


GC249 - Cross Cultural Communication

by CardiacCrisis



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardiacCrisis/pseuds/CardiacCrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marik Ishtar moved to the States to pursue an education, he picked out a nice apartment near the school to crash between classes. The roommate he found through Craigslist, however, was not so nice.<br/><br/>(Modern College Citronship AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taemanaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taemanaku/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the prompt was this:  
> Thiefshipping AU: Marik is a college student living off-campus and finds a roommate on Craigslist (Bakura). When they meet, it's a disaster.
> 
> I, uhhh, kind of ended up drifting from that initial description, hopefully in ways that are interesting! I'm calling this Citronship because this modern, non-magical iteration of Bakura is kind of a mix of Thief King Bakura and Yami Bakura in terms of personality and backstory, but *looks* like Thief King Bakura.
> 
> In this story there will be a lot of things said in Spanish but if you don't know Spanish, THAT'S ACTUALLY A GOOD THING (in terms of this story). Why? Because on your first read-through you'll get the "Marik" experience where you have no idea what Bakura is actually saying and have to go by his tone. At the end of the work, I'll have a glossary with all of the non-English phrases and translations for you. Then when you reread with the glossary handy, you'll get to know what Bakura is *actually* saying, which is a slightly different experience!
> 
> I would have liked to include lots of Arabic as well so we can really have some cross-cultural communication, but time constraints already forced me to leave out a ton of the headcanons I ended up developing, and it would require a lot more research on my part since I don't know Arabic...
> 
> Warnings: Foul language in several languages and some use of (homophobic) slurs. It's mostly Bakura's fault. This fic is only rated "Explicit" for the completely skippable penultimate chapter. If you want the citronship without the lemon, please feel free to skip that chapter, whose beginning note will warn you of the contents.

Making the Craigslist ad had been surprisingly easy. A few pictures of the apartment, a few sentences about the convenience and features of the room available, and interested messages from potential roommates started pouring in.

Getting an extra key from his landlord, however, threw a fairly large wrench in Marik's plans. Apparently he needed a whole week to make a duplicate key, even though Marik _knew_ that the kiosk at the supermarket could make one in minutes. The landlord insisted that Marik wasn’t allowed to make his own copies of the key though, and Marik agreed with a sigh. He supposed he shouldn’t have waited until the weekend before school started to request an extra key to his apartment. He managed to thank the landlord politely before retreating to his room.

With a huff, Marik sat back down at his computer, tapping his fingernails against the black plastic before starting to type. He replied with the same email to everyone that had inquired about the room, asking whether they would be okay with receiving the key to the apartment one week _after_ classes started. As soon as Marik was done, he stood up so forcefully that his chair rolled back and bumped against the sofa, and he headed to the kitchen, resisting the urge to throw something against a wall.

He decided to make baba ghanoush, not because he particularly wanted to eat any, but because he wanted to smash something into a pulp and he might as well get dinner ready while he was at it. After placing his iPhone on the counter where he could see it as he cooked (but have it safely out of the splash zone), Marik fetched an eggplant from the fridge and tossed it in the oven. He set it to roast, and then realized that he’d have to wait at least half an hour before he could actually start pureeing.

He scowled, then decided to make feta salad while the eggplant softened. As he peeled and sliced the cucumbers, his phone occasionally buzzed, screen lighting up as email after email came in. Even though he knew they wasn’t necessarily responses from the people on Craigslist, it still didn’t help his mood. He chopped the vegetables with more force than what was strictly necessary. Each staccato thump of his blade against the cutting board dissipated a little of the day’s annoyances.

He missed Rashid, or rather, he missed Odion. He wasn't used to being alone, and without Odion's comforting presence by his side, he had been getting angry more often, especially when he had to deal with idiots like the landlord. He knew Odion would have accompanied him to America if he had asked, but he also knew that he was safer with Isis- with Ishizu and so he hadn't asked.

Marik had been hoping a roommate would help keep the apartment from feeling too empty, and the extra income would prevent him from having to tap into any of his overseas accounts. It looked like that wasn't going to happen at this rate, so he tried to calm himself down. There was nothing he could do but grin and bear it.

With a sigh, he stopped his chopping temporarily. After impatiently swiping away the email notifications and turning on the Do Not Disturb mode, he put on iTunes, pointed the speaker towards himself, and then returned to cooking. Soon the melody overpowered the tumultuous thoughts in his mind, and he fell into the rhythm of slicing and dicing and mixing, deciding on the fly to make enough for the week.

After about two hours of industrious cooking and cleaning, Marik had worked up an appetite and was feeling calm enough to deal with all of the notifications on his phone. He rolled up the baba ghanoush and salad in pita bread like a burrito and scrolled through the messages on his phone. As he expected, a stream of Sorry No Longer Interesteds interspersed with marketing emails.

He sighed, feeling the extra disposable income slip away from his grasp. He tugged the email list downwards one last time in the vain hope that refreshing would bring him good news.

A new email did pop up, with Craigslist in the subject line, and Marik recognized the sender as one of the ones he had emailed before. He tapped open the message.

"Waiting a week for the key isn't a problem. The location's good and the price is decent, plus most of the lodging is full by now. Is the room still available? I'm in CS."

Marik's eyebrows lifted up incredulously. A computer science major that was okay with starting school a week later? The nerd must be really desperate to live there, probably because the computer science building was across the street. He snickered, imagining a skinny white kid clutching a laptop to himself.

Well, he probably wasn't going to get any other takers without a key in his hand. He typed back a quick reply.

"Yeah, the room's yours if you want it. The room number is 222, and the apartment's fully furnished, like I said in the ad. Don't forget to bring two month's rent when you move in, I'll let you know as soon as I get the key. I'm in MechE, it'll be cool to room with another STEM major. Are you taking Calculus 1 this semester too?"

Once he sent the message, he locked his phone and set it down. Classes started tomorrow, and he supposed he should probably get a good night's sleep. He had two classes on Monday, but they were both in the afternoon so he could safely hit the gym before class. This decided, he cleared the table and started getting ready for bed.

 

* * *

 

A few familiar high-pitched chirps later, Marik rolled over in bed and shut off his alarm. He rubbed at an eye and yawned, brushing his bangs out of his face. Peering at the ceiling, he decided that he should probably do his laundry tonight. Another soft huff of breath, and then he climbed out of bed, reaching towards the ceiling and stretching.

He made a face at the bitter post-sleep taste in his mouth and went to brush his teeth. As he entered the hallway, he casually peered into the kitchen before moving towards the bathroom-and then immediately moved back to look properly into the kitchen.

Standing there, in front of his stove, was a stranger, apparently adding spices to a pot.

A person he didn't recognize, just casually cooking, in his kitchen.

He looked around the room for a moment, unsure if it was a dream, but everything was there, and everything was in its place, except that there was a _stranger_ in his _kitchen_.

They turned and Marik took in iron grey hair and dark tanned skin before his eyes focused on the massive scar marring the left side of their face.

The scar wrinkled slightly as their mouth opened, and Marik's eyes shifted to meet the stranger's. His eyes were as grey as his hair and the stranger said, in a gravelly voice, "Oh hey there, nice to meet you, I'm Bakura, the comp sci student."

Marik could not think of an appropriate response in time, and the stranger continued, "The rent's on the table, don't worry about the key, just get it to me when you can." And then _he went back to cooking_ , like he belonged there.

Marik tried to say something, but there were too many different expressions of outrage trying to leave Marik's mouth at once, and so nothing actually escaped. He tried again, and what managed to leave his mouth was, "The door is locked!"

The stranger glanced back at him, and while it was petty and stupid, Marik felt a little bit gratified that the stranger at least had to look upwards to meet his eyes. The stranger shrugged, as if locked doors were of no consequence.

"Yeah, I emailed you a couple of times to ask if you could open the door for me since I don't have your number, but I guess you were asleep." He stirred again and whatever it was smelled a little bit like ful medames, but the familiarity was unwelcome and Marik scowled.

"Then how did you get in here? The door was locked!"

The stranger, Bakura? he thought, raised his hands in a helpless shrug and a thick gold watch glinted from a surprisingly-slim wrist.

"I had to pick the lock. I knocked and knocked, but you wouldn't open, and it wasn't like I was going to wait outside forever with all of my stuff."

Marik sputtered out an indignant noise, but then he thought, "All of your-" Marik turned and looked around the living room, but he saw no boxes.

The stranger was taste-testing whatever he had in the pot and it occurred to Marik that the kitchenware looked distinctly familiar.

"Are those _my_ pots and pans?"

"Hmm?" Bakura looked up at Marik again, then at the utensil in his hand. "Yeah, you said the apartment was fully furnished, right?"

"You fucking broke into my house and started cooking in my damn kitchen with my pots and pans and food like you own the place-"

"Actually, the food is mine," interjected Bakura, "and also I _did_ bring the rent, so technically I do kind of own part of the place."

Marik swore he saw red at that moment.

"Take the damn money and get the fuck out of my house, I never want to see your goddamn face again!"

The stranger's forehead furrowed, and he had the audacity to look indignant.

"Hey, what the fuck is your problem? I brought _two_ month's rent like you asked, I'm not pestering you about the key even though that would clearly be a deal-breaker because who the fuck is going to miss the first week of classes? Plus, I already moved in and I haven't done shit to you so what the fuck are you screaming at me for?"

Marik vehemently disagreed on the subject of Bakura's lack of wrongdoing, and was about to tell him so when he noticed that Bakura had again claimed to have already moved in.

"That's bullshit, if you moved in already, where's all of your crap?!"

The upward movement of a steel grey eyebrow was more eloquent than words at expressing what Bakura thought of Marik's IQ in that moment.

He enunciated more clearly, "The stuff that I brought... To move in with... Is in the bedroom... That was being rented out... You know... The one YOU put on Craigslist."

Marik had never wanted to shoot someone in the face as much as he did right now. A beat started to throb in his brain, a headache approaching in his mental horizon.

"There is absolutely no fucking way that you could carry boxes past my _open bedroom door_ without waking me, you're a fucking liar!"

Instead of owning up to his error, the stranger simply shrugged at him again and appeared to have lost interest in the conversation, adding more ingredients into the pot that still simmered over the stove.

With a snarl, Marik turned on his heel, stomping down the hallway to his right towards the spare bedroom. There was no way, absolutely no way that someone could have been moving stuff back and forth less than six inches away from his head, there was absolutely no way-

He impatiently shoved the bedroom door open, revealing boxes stacked on boxes stacked on boxes.

" _كل خرى_ ," swore Marik, and he gave the nearest box a vicious kick. He pressed the palm of his left hand against his forehead, the oncoming headache pounding more insistently.

"Hey, what the fuck?!"

The stranger was behind him and Marik whirled around in surprise, catching a glimpse of the annoyed expression on Bakura's face before the back of Marik's left hand slammed into the guy's cheek, the one without the scar.

The force of the accidental blow turned the stranger's face from Marik. Marik's eyes, wide with shock, shifted from his offending hand, which still hovered uncertainly in midair, to the silvery hair hiding the stranger's expression.

A low growl of " _Hijo de la gran puta!"_ and Marik understood nothing except the dark-skinned fist that drew back and hurled towards him.

With a yelp, he skittered backwards, only for a box to catch his left calf and send him tumbling back. Bakura’s arm sliced through empty air as Marik’s right leg swung upwards. Pain exploded from his toes as Marik’s foot happened to crash into Bakura’s knee. Both of them howled and scampered back, away from each other.

Marik scooted backwards over the box he had landed on, when he ran out of box and fell back onto the floor. Only the quick curl of his body preventing his head from slamming against the floorboards. There was a loud thud as Bakura also managed to trip backwards, the home invader falling on his ass and accidentally knocking his head against the doorframe with a thump. “ _Mierda!_ ”

Marik knew he should be getting back onto his feet, but once his head was resting on the floor, the position was not uncomfortable, and he rested a moment. A huff of breath from near the door and Marik tensed, ready to kick despite the throbbing pain in his toes, but the stranger only spoke from what sounded like the same position on the floor beside the doorframe.

"What was that for?"

Marik felt his blood start to heat up again at the question.

Punctuating each word with the smack of his palm against cardboard, Marik shouted, "You! Broke! Into! My! House!"

The stranger started to argue when there was a sharp beep. Puzzled, Marik looked around for a second before sound began to blare, lights flashing again. Sitting up, his wide eyes meet Bakura's as the smell of burnt food reached them at the same time.

“SHIT!” they yelled simultaneously, then they scrambled to their feet, ignoring their forming bruises. Bakura was closer to the door and he raced ahead down the hallway, Marik in hot pursuit. A slight curl of smoke wafted overhead and the stranger skidded to a stop, Marik running into him and then shoving him aside as he sprinted into the kitchen.

Sure enough, the pot the stranger had been stirring was now on fire, smoke billowing into the air as tongues of flame threatened to lick at the wooden cabinets above. The blaring of the smoke detector made the headache that had been lurking at the back of his mind take center stage. Marik bared his teeth as he grabbed the pot lid and slammed it over the fire, climbing onto the kitchen counter and hitting the mute button on the smoke detector.

Thankfully, the infernal alarm fell silent, though his head still hurt like hell and his eyes now itched from the smoke. Hopping down from the counter, Marik turned to check the stove. The idiot had turned the heat up all the way, and Marik shut it off. He checked the pot, touching the lid handle experimentally to see if it was hot. Finding that it wasn’t, he removed the lid and saw that the fire had died out, though the inside of the pot was charred black and released a cloud of thick smoke.

Marik slammed the lid on again, waving some of the smoke away from his face, then he exited the kitchen to properly beat the shit out of the short stranger. All he had to do was make it to his bedroom and-

Wide grey eyes peered at him from the hall entryway. Only Bakura’s much-too-pale face, white-rimmed eyes, messy grey hair and a white-knuckled hand gripping the doorway were visible, the rest hidden from Marik’s view.

Marik scowled at him. “You’re lucky that the fire didn’t spread to the cabinets, asshole, you would have set the whole place on fire.”

The stranger’s eyes grew impossibly wider, then he turned and disappeared. Marik frowned, moving to look down the hall, and when he saw only the open bedroom door at the end of the hall he gave chase, cursing under his breath. When he burst into the bedroom, Marik looked around wildly for the stranger, but didn’t see him anywhere, only the boxes he had brought with him. A loud honking of a car in the street and Marik rushed to the window to see Bakura a block away, a brown and grey blur as he sprinted away.

Glowering, Marik checked the window and found it unlocked. He locked it with a little more force than strictly necessary. Good riddance. He knew that the son of a bitch could probably break in again, but his headache demanded aspirin, his body demanded a really hot shower, and his stomach demanded breakfast.

Marik returned to the still-smoky kitchen to down some aspirin. He would have opened the window, but he didn’t want any vermin crawling in, so he turned on the ventilator above the stove. Back in the living room, he looked at the front door. It was locked, but that was apparently no deterrent, so he pushed the sofa in front of the door to prevent any more unwanted visitations. Once that was done, he jogged to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, ate cereal straight from the box while watching his barricaded front door, then retreated to the shower.

He would have liked to take his time and let the heated water soothe away the stress of the morning, but he was still jumpy at the thought that the stranger, Bakura, could be back at any moment. Once he had his clothes back on, he returned to the spare bedroom to survey all of the boxes the stranger had left behind. Marik supposed that he could call the cops to have them take it away as evidence or whatever, but he didn’t want his name on any police reports and honestly he didn’t want to deal with this right now at all.

Grabbing his bookbag, cell phone, and wallet, he was about to head out for his first class when he realized that he’d have to move the couch if he wanted to leave or get back in. With a snarl, he returned to his bedroom to cram as many of his valuables into his backpack as he could fit before moving the couch and going to class. The way this was going, his first semester of college was going to be shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I completely butcher any of the Arabic, I'd love to know so I can fix it ASAP. ;^;


	2. Syllabus

Marik returned to his apartment in a foul mood. First, he had scouted out the location of his afternoon class before grabbing lunch. When he arrived fifteen minutes early to the class there was no one there, and when he logged into the school Wi-Fi to check his email, there was a message saying that the class had been moved to another location. So then he had to run because, of course, the new location was on the other side of campus. And when he reached the building, he had to spend ten minutes searching for the classroom because apparently it was only accessible if you took a _particular_ set of stairs but not any of the other four staircases.

Once he finally found the damn place and entered, the professor snidely commented on the importance of being punctual, and on top of _that_ , there were no free seats at all for Marik to take because the class was apparently overbooked and the school was waiting for some people to drop the course. So he had to awkwardly lean against the wall near the door for nearly two hours, and almost got a door to the face after another student returned from the bathroom.

He was out the door the instant class was dismissed, and since his next class wasn't for another four hours, he returned to his apartment to down another aspirin in the hopes of smothering his headache's comeback. He had almost forgotten about the weird Craigslist home invader- almost.

This time, if that guy tried anything funny, he would be ready. Carefully turning the key in his lock so as to make as little noise as possible, Marik winced at the soft _chk!_ of the mechanism switching to the open position. After waiting another moment, he quietly opened the door, peering around it and into his living room.

He was met with the sight of boxes upon boxes upon boxes. So the guy had come back, just as he had expected. The stranger had left all of his junk at Marik’s place after all, and apparently locks were no hindrance to him. He didn’t see the man in the room, though the apartment did smell weirdly of flowers…?

Marik closed the door behind him, and then the stranger emerged from the kitchen, almost giving Marik a heart attack. For some reason, he- Bakura- was wearing only basketball shorts and was holding a mop?

“Hey, you’re back. Sorry about this morning, I was just cleaning up the mess I made in the kitchen before I left. Almost done.”

Several pale scars of varying length sliced across the earthy brown of Bakura’s fairly toned chest, and the huge baggy blue shorts somehow made him look even smaller than when he was fully clothed, especially since he was not much taller than the mop he held. The stranger turned to re-enter the kitchen and Marik noticed a bruise starting to darken his unscarred cheek.

Somehow, knowing that he had dealt that bruise felt a lot worse than seeing much more severe injuries Odion had dealt on his orders. He followed Bakura into the kitchen to make sure he wasn’t actually chucking everything out of his window.

The kitchen gleamed. The stove-top looked brand-new, the cabinets had been polished, the sink gleamed and the counter-top was shiny enough to be a mirror. Even the fridge had been washed, though the stranger had replaced the magnet and the shopping list Marik had stuck there precisely in the same spot. Funnily enough, the kitchen window _was_ open, though it was probably to let out the stench of chemical cleaners and artificial flowers.

Bakura was wringing the mop over a bucket of purple-grey water and Marik wrinkled his nose at a bottle of bright purple liquid on the counter, guessing that it was the cause of the fake flower scent. After setting the still-damp mop on the ground, the stranger pointed at the large box next to the bottle.

“Here’s a new pot, I figured the other one would be unusable and tossed it out.” He then made shooing motions at Marik and started remopping the wet floor, lightly bumping the mop head against Marik’s shoe when he didn’t get the hint to leave.

Marik reluctantly returned to the box-filled living room. He didn’t know what to think. He certainly hadn’t expected the stranger to clean up his kitchen before leaving. Looking at all of the boxes, he wondered how the short guy was even going to manage to carry it all out.

He yelled into the kitchen, “Do you have a car?”

“No,” Bakura yelled back, “I’m going to have to get an Uber after I figure out which hotel I’m going to stay at.”

“Hotel?”

“Yeah, there really aren’t any spare rooms left in this area, so I’m going to have to find a new place further away that’s on a bus route and move in as soon as possible. Probably not going to be able to do that before my first class tomorrow morning, sadly.”

“Hmmm.” Marik suspected that he was trying to guilt him into letting him stay a little longer. Unfortunately, it was working a little bit because now that he was fully awake his reaction earlier did seem a little excessive. Especially now that the guy seemed apologetic enough to fix his mistake.

“...How long do you think it’ll take you to find a new place?”

Bakura must have sensed his weakness because he waited a bit before replying, “Probably a week. I might have to wait until someone drops out to nab a place near a bus stop or within walking distance.”

Marik snorted quietly to himself because he knew he was going to regret this immensely.

“You can stay for a week. But you still have to pay a week’s rent and your ass had better be long gone Monday morning.”

Bakura stuck his head into the living room and Marik made a face at his triumphant grin.

“Hey, thank you! Hotels are real fuckin’ expensive and I’d get mugged at a motel with all this stuff.”

Marik rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’d better stay out of my way this week, because I can and will kick you out earlier if you piss me off.” He eyed the mop Bakura still held. “Unless you’re cleaning, of course.”

Bakura scowled and gave him the finger. “Fuck you if you think I’m going to be cleaning this place for you like a goddamn janitor, I’m a tenant, not a servant, asshole.”

Marik shrugged. “Well, you had better not mess up the apartment again.”

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but then he looked upwards pensively. “Hmm…” His grey eyes lowered to meet Marik’s. “What’s your name, by the way? I don’t think you ever actually told me.”

He supposed there was no harm in telling him. “I guess I should introduce myself properly if you’re going to be here for a week. My name’s Marik, Marik Ishtar. I’m from Egypt.”

The grey eyes widened at the sound of his name and Marik briefly wondered whether Bakura had heard of him, but he just stepped fully into the living room, leaving the mop leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m Bakura Del Rio, from Mexico.” He approached Marik with a hand held out, and Marik shook his hand obligingly. Bakura’s hand was large, rough and clammy from cleaning, though thankfully not wet.

“Thank you, Marik, for letting me stay.” He winced. “And also for putting the fire out.”

Marik didn't know what to say, so he just nodded, and Bakura pulled his hand away. The Mexican then turned on his heel and returned to the kitchen, and Marik stood awkwardly in his living room for a minute before retreating to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

As Marik reorganized his room, he fielded questions from Ishizu, who had just awoken and wanted to know how he was acclimating to America. He knew that telling her about his less-than-ideal experience in English earlier would only compel her to suggest living with her and Odion instead of forging a new life in the States, so he told her that everything was fine and that his first class went well. He sat up in his windowsill and took a selfie with a thumbs-up and the city in the background. It came out alright, and he sent it, but he figured that he should probably try to take another with the sunset, it should look pretty epic from this angle.

The message took longer than usual to send, and Marik noticed that his phone wasn’t connected to the Wi-Fi. Shrugging, he restarted the router, then set about reorganizing his closet. He hadn’t had time to properly arrange it when he moved in a week ago. He was busy hiding his primary jewelry box among his winter clothing when Odion sent him a message asking whether he had gotten a roommate yet. Marik typed back with a grin, “Yeah, I got one, he broke into the apartment, tried to punch me, almost set the apartment on fire and now he's half-naked and cleaning the kitchen.”

Imagining the look of surprise and confusion that was probably on Odion's usually-stoic face, Marik snickered to himself. After a minute, Odion replied, “It sounds like you're going to have an interesting year at college.”

“Nah, I’m kicking him out in a week as soon as he finds somewhere else to live,” Marik sent, and he picked out a light jacket to wear. He then tried to check up on Twitter before leaving to next class, but his internet was still slow for some reason, even though the router had all of its lights on.

When he emerged from his bedroom, a box was in his face and he jumped back with a yelp. A laugh, and then Bakura lowered the box to grin at him.

“Sorry, landlord, did I startle you?”

Marik gave him a one-fingered salute and Bakura laughed his way down the hall. Watching him enter the spare room, Marik noticed that the Mexican really didn’t make any noise as he walked. He was still shirtless though, and that was weird, but Marik’s stomach rumbled then, and he went to fetch a snack and the aspirin he had neglected to take earlier. He tried again in vain to connect to the Wi-Fi, then, remembering that Bakura was supposed to be in Computer Science, he moved back into the living room to yell at him down the hallway.

“Hey, the Wi-Fi isn’t working! Can you fix it?”

“I’m in Comp Sci, not Tech Support!” A pause, and then Bakura moved out into the hallway where Marik could see him. “Actually, the Wi-Fi is fine, I just forgot to mention that I changed the password.”

Marik stared. “WHAT? You hacked into my Wi-Fi?”

Bakura looked offended at the accusation. “No, I didn’t want to steal your password, so I just reset your router.”

“The router is _in my room_.”

Bakura didn’t seem to understand why this was an issue. “What, I needed to use the internet and I ran out of data getting here.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t believe you-” The alarm on Marik’s iPhone went off and Bakura leapt back two feet in surprise even though he was a hallway away. Marik shut it off, knowing that it meant he needed to head to class.

“We’re going to discuss exactly what you are and aren’t allowed to do as soon as I get back from class. God, it would have been easier to just toss you out on the street.”

Bakura had the gall to wink. “No backsies!”

Marik swore at him, and the Mexican just laughed before waving at him. “ _Adios, Marikita!_ Have fun in class!”

Marik gave him a double serving of fuck-you via sign language, then grabbed his bookbag from his room and headed out.

It was only when he was entering his classroom that he realized something. He had been late to his first class that morning because he hadn’t received the email earlier and his phone only downloaded messages when he was connected to the Wi-Fi. Upon checking his phone, the email had been sent early that morning, shortly before Marik awoke. Which meant that Bakura _had entered his room while he was asleep_ and reset his router.

He was really going to have to kick Bakura’s ass.

 

* * *

 

Physics went a lot better than English had, but he was eager to return to his flat at the end of the day. The less time his new tenant stayed in the apartment unsupervised, the better. The guy must have been a cat burglar before he decided to enter computer science for some reason. Marik resolved to double-check his belongings after yelling at Bakura for entering his bedroom and messing with the router while he was asleep.

When Marik opened the door to his apartment, it was dark, too dark, and a shudder ran down his spine. He groped blindly for the light switch. After a few moments of silent terror, he found it, and switched it on. Nothing happened. Then he remembered that this shitty apartment didn't have a ceiling light in the living room, and that the two floor lamps had to be turned on by hand. Neither of the lamps was anywhere near the doorway where he stood, which meant that he'd have to make his way through complete darkness and feel around for them until he eventually found one.

Marik wanted to scream.

He backed away from his apartment door. Maybe he could just go buy a flashlight at the pharmacy? Sure, it was nighttime, but there were street lamps out there and he knew the pharmacy would be brightly lit-

A face appeared out of the darkness and Marik did scream, leaping backwards. The face disappeared, then reemerged as Bakura, and Marik clutched at his chest in relief.

“What the fuck, Bakura, why the hell are all the lights off?!”

The Mexican looked offended by Marik's tone of voice. “I was just taking a nap and turned off the lights to save on the electricity-”

“You're not paying for the electricity! _I_ am! So leave the fucking lights _on_!”

Bakura held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, holy shit, no need to bust a nut over it.” He retreated into the apartment and Marik took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm down. He looked away from the dark depths beyond the door, hoping Bakura had enough sense to turn the lights on instead of just going back to his room.

Luckily, Bakura did in fact turn on the light, though Marik had no idea how he had managed to find the floor lamp. Marik stepped inside hesitantly and Bakura moved to light the second lamp, restoring the living room to its usual brightness. Marik felt a weight lift off his back, and sighed softly. Bakura shot him a glance, then walked into the hallway, turning on the lights there too. He was only wearing shorts again and Marik idly wondered if Bakura hated shirts.  Realizing that he must have looked like a lunatic to his new tenant, he shut the front door behind himself and said, “Thank you, Bakura.”

He heard a grumbled, “No problem”, so he went to his room to put down his bookbag. Marik supposed he should ask Bakura what the new Wi-Fi password was. Yelling at him now seemed petty, but maybe he could lay down a few ground rules still. This decided, he went to go knock on Bakura's closed door.

He heard the rolling of an office chair, then the door opened, and Bakura peered at him cautiously. Marik felt himself flush a little in embarrassment, knowing that Bakura probably expected more yelling.

“Hey, I just wanted to know what the new Wi-Fi password is. Or should I reset the router again?”

Looking slightly relieved at Marik's softer tone of voice, Bakura rolled out of sight. “Yeah, let me write it down for you…”

Marik took the opportunity to peek in. It seemed like Bakura was only partially done unpacking, several boxes open on the floor. He supposed it wouldn't make sense to unpack everything though if Bakura was to pack up again in less than a week.

Bakura rolled back towards him, his desk equipped with a laptop and two external monitors. He held out a strip of paper towards Marik. “Can you read that?”

Marik took the sheet. “cr1TikAl~fuMbLe?”

“Yeah, it's a pretty secure password, so you shouldn't be getting any unauthorized access. Though I guess you'll be wanting to change that again after I leave.”

Bakura looked pretty impartial when he said that, but Marik knew he was fishing for more time.

“Hmm. Well, thank you. Oh, and I wanted to discuss something.”

Bakura looked cautious again. “Yeah? What's up?”

“I just wanted to clarify that I don't want you in my room without my permission. And while you're here I won't enter this room without your permission.”

Bakura nodded. “That's fair.” The Mexican's eyes darted towards his computer screens for a moment and Marik had the distinct impression that Bakura was just waiting for him to finish talking and leave. The thought riled him up a little bit, but he didn't want to start another fight, so he just waved awkwardly.

“Okay, see you later I guess.”

Looking faintly amused, Bakura waved back. “ _Hasta mañana, Marikita_.”

Marik had no idea what that meant, and it irked him, but he shrugged it off and closed the door. Returning to his own bedroom, he thought to himself that he certainly hoped the rest of this week would be less interesting than today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to anyone/everyone who recognized the Fabuloso lmao.


	3. Code of Conduct

Bakura sighed as the alarm on his cellphone went off, and he shut it off almost immediately. The night had been quiet, the bed decent, and he was feeling better rested, but his cheek was still sore from yesterday's fracas. As he picked out a shirt to wear to school, he heard Marik exit his room and enter the apartment's only bathroom. He had heard Marik exit the apartment while he was sleeping, and heard him reenter shortly before the alarm went off, so Bakura's guess was that the Egyptian had gone to the gym and had returned to take a shower.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the showerhead turn on. He decided to check up on the codes he had written last night while he waited for Marik to vacate the bathroom so he could brush his teeth. One of them seemed to have encountered a bug, but the other one was running pretty well. He spent about ten minutes looking through his code for the bug before giving up, too hungry to sift through all of the classes and functions.

The shower was still on though, so he decided to get breakfast started. He kept an ear out while he fried eggs and heated an arepa, but even after the food was done, water still poured in the bathroom. With a scowl, Bakura was forced to give his teeth a rudimentary cleaning in the kitchen sink, unwilling to wait any longer for breakfast.

Even after he had finished eating and checking his email inbox on his phone, Marik was still in the shower, and he swore at the bathroom door. At this rate, he was going to be late to his morning class. He was about to pound on the door when the water was suddenly shut off. Finally. He retrieved the day's outfit from his room, then leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, waiting for Marik to leave.

Bakura heard Marik brushing his teeth, and he tapped his feet on the floor as he waited. Then the water shut off again and Bakura watched the door expectantly. Five minutes later, Marik was still in there. Bakura groaned.

“Aren't you done yet?”

Marik either didn't hear him or ignored his complaint.

Tired of leaning on the wall, he paced impatiently in front of the door. Then he realized that his footsteps were almost inaudible, so he began stomping for Marik's benefit.

Still no response, and Bakura growled, “ _Es que te estás preparando para un concurso de belleza ahí adentro?_ ”

Having nothing better to do, Bakura decided to make some use of his time and stretched himself out, getting out some of the stress in his system. Then he started doing pushups on the floor. He might as well get some exercise in, because Marik didn't seem like he was going to be done any time soon. After his arms tired, he switched to crunches, and when his abs burned, he got on his feet to do jumping jacks. He sincerely hoped that the thumping of his feet against the floor was annoying the shit out of Marik.

Bakura finally heard the door knob being opened, so he stopped jumping and prepared to complain. Steam curled out of the bathroom as the door swung, and out of the steam stepped a god.

Flawless eyeliner, darker than sin, outlined bright lavender eyes, shining strands of gold framed glorious cheekbones and poured onto broad shoulders. Gold bands circled muscled arms and brought out the rich caramel of his skin, and  a slim-fitting shirt exposed the top of a chiseled Adonis belt.

The words dried up in his mouth.

Marik's gaze met Bakura's, and he held up his middle finger at Bakura's eye level as he swept past, the scent of musk and sandalwood trailing in his wake.

It took a moment for Bakura to regain his composure, and when he checked the current time on his phone, he yelped, then grabbed his clothes and sprinted into the bathroom. If he hurried, he would only be ten minutes late.

 

* * *

 

Marik rolled up to the building that housed his Calculus class on his beloved motorcycle ten minutes early. The ride had been short, but the rumble of the engine had soothed away the annoyance of Bakura's noise-making while he was getting ready this morning. He had previously thought that putting a bell on Bakura would be an improvement, as the Mexican would no longer be able to startle him, but hearing him pace endlessly outside the bathroom door had been infuriating.

The motorcycle-induced relaxation dissipated, however, when it took him over fifteen minutes to find parking. He cursed at the completely full lot, knowing that if he parked next to the sidewalk that his motorcycle would be towed within five minutes. He was finally able to leave his motorcycle next to a badly parked car that had taken up a space and a half, though he didn't leave without getting a picture of the car's license plates. If there was a single scratch on his pride and joy upon his return, he would rain hell on the perpetrator.

He was then forced to run to class with his helmet bag under his arm and his messenger bag held by hand so it wouldn't thump against his side. Once Marik found the right classroom (luckily with much more ease than yesterday), he slipped inside. It was an auditorium class, and it was packed.

He looked over the sea of heads for an empty seat, and after a few moments of increasingly desperate searching, he spotted one. It was down near the front, on the opposite side of the room.

Marik sighed.

He saw a door on the opposite side, so he left through the door he had come in and tried to enter through the other side, but the damn door was locked. He was forced to reenter through the same door, earning him glares from the students sitting nearby as he distracted them from the lecture. The glares only intensified when he was forced to pass in front of all of them, holding his bookbag and helmet bag over their heads.

Once he finally made it to the other side, he descended towards the front of the room. Then he had to squeeze past four more people before he could finally sit down. There wasn't much room for his legs with his neighbors’ backpacks in the way, and much less room for both of his own bags. Marik was forced to balance his helmet on top of his messenger bag, and then he had to reverse their order when he went to retrieve a notebook and a pen.

He had put his notebook on his desk and started writing the date when his elbow accidentally bumped into his neighbor. Marik had forgotten that writing left-handed was an annoyance at close-quarters. Indeed, the guy sitting next to him was glaring daggers at him and-

Of fucking course, it was Bakura. The black beanie he was wearing had hidden his distinctive gray hair.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me,” he hissed, but unfortunately that was the precise moment when the instructor had momentarily stopped talking, and the excellent acoustics in the room carried his words much farther than he had intended.

The auditorium echoed with amused snickers and the professor rolled his eyes before continuing the lecture. Marik sank in his seat, doing his best to ignore Bakura's wide grin. He considered writing with his right hand just to avoid having to interact with Bakura, but then he decided that he wasn’t going to let _Bakura_ dictate his behavior.

So maybe he jabbed his elbow with a little more force than necessary whenever he started a new line, but Bakura gave as good as he got, and in the end, neither of them had very legible or cohesive notes. After the class finally ended, they had shuffled out of the cramped auditorium and parted ways, hoping fervently that they didn’t share any more classes.

 

* * *

 

Marik was glad to not find Bakura at his Intro to Engineering class. While the course was obviously not something that would be on a Computer Science curriculum, with his luck this week he was half-expecting Bakura to be the teaching assistant. The class went well, and Marik was excited to hear that one of the recently-graduated students was working at the Kawasaki Motorcycle & Engine division. Maybe he could get an internship there later on?

The drive back home was a lot more relaxing since he actually had somewhere to park at the end of it. While he loved riding his bike, he now knew that driving it to school was impractical due to the ridiculous lack of parking spaces. It was a damn shame, really.

When he re-entered his apartment, he was glad to find the lights on. After Marik left his stuff in his bedroom, he went to the kitchen to fix up something for dinner. He noticed with distaste that Bakura had used his pots and pans again, though at least they weren’t burnt this time. After he ate, he went back to his bedroom to see if he could find cheap used copies of the textbooks he was supposed to buy. Classroom gossip indicated that one of them was pushing $200, and there was no fucking way he was going to blow that much money on a book he was only going to use for three months.

He ended up buying a couple of new shirts in the middle of his book search, then decided that online shopping was thirsty work and went to fetch water. As he was leaving the kitchen again, he found Bakura in the living room, quietly closing the door behind himself. Marik marveled at the fact that he hadn’t even heard the Mexican come in.

“How do you move so quietly?”

After setting his bookbag on the couch, Bakura shot him a wink. “I’m actually a ghost, and a figment of your imagination.”

Marik snorted. “Well, if you’re imaginary, then can you start dreaming up your own pots and pans instead of using mine?”

“Hey, cookware is expensive, even for ghosts. Plus, it’s not like there’s enough room in the cabinets to store a whole extra set.”

When Marik grumbled, “Fine, just don’t set any of it on fire again,” Bakura grinned because he knew he had won.

Then Marik asked, “So how's the house hunt going?”

Bakura's grin slid off his face. “...it's going. All the good places are packed. There are cheaper places outside the city, but riding the bus is a huge pain in the ass.”

Marik made a noncommittal noise. He had taken the bus once to see what it was like. Never again.

Bakura noticed. “College is so fucking expensive. No wonder people have to take out giant-ass loans to get through it. I just had three classes and got slapped with three textbooks I'm supposed to buy. They're the most expensive books on the subject, with low reviews. Why am I supposed to buy it? Because the fucking professor wrote it, that's why.”

Even though he knew Bakura was fishing for sympathy, Marik couldn't help but respond, “Yes, that's so fucking true! And they try to make you buy it from the campus bookstore, because they have it at double the price there!”

“Yeah, but they aren't getting me. No fucking way. I'm pirating that shit, I _know_ someone's uploaded the pdf somewhere.”

Marik looked surprised. “Wait, really? You can get the whole thing online?”

Spotting his chance, Bakura grinned again. “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, yeah. Did your professors give you a library to buy too?”

“Yup.” Marik paused, mentally weighing the pros and cons. “Hmm. If you get me the pdfs... I'll let you stay an extra week.” He figured that the extra money in his pocket would outweigh the annoyance of having to put up with Bakura a few more days.

Bakura looked very pleased. “Deal. Just give me the ISBNs or the name of the book and the assholes who wrote it.”

“Give me your number. I'll text it to you.” Then he could also yell at Bakura via text whenever the situation demanded it.

Bakura had the audacity to wink at him again. “Do you want my Snapchat too, _Marikita_?”

Marik's scowl was answer enough, and Bakura laughed. Maybe Marik had underestimated quite how annoying Bakura could be while he was making that decision.

 

* * *

 

The next day, luckily enough, didn’t result in Marik making a fool of himself in front of his entire class. Bakura had mostly made himself scarce, doing only God knows what in his room. Marik supposed he ought to be grateful for the Mexican’s silence, though it still startled the shit out of him when he would turn around and Bakura would suddenly _be there_.

It only happened twice that day, both times when Marik had left his room for the kitchen. And thankfully Bakura hadn’t pestered him while he was in the bathroom that day either, because that would have been infuriating. Instead, he spent his time in the apartment working on his first homework assignments of the semester. Marik was relieved to see that none of them were too challenging, though he knew that the difficulty level would probably rise as the semester wore on. He got as much of it done as possible, wanting to dedicate a good chunk of his weekend to riding around on his bike.

On Thursday morning, Marik returned from the gym to find Bakura already dressed and eating breakfast. “Well, you’re up early.”

“I didn't want to wait another two hours for you to get out of the fucking bathroom. Are you exfoliating every single one of your pores individually in there, or…?”

“Hey, fuck off, perfection takes time. Plus, this is still my apartment, so I'll take as long as I want.”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “Yes, I get that this is your apartment, you say that literally every single time we talk, _culero_. _Eres un tremendo codo_.”

Marik was sure that whatever Bakura said just now was less than savory, but it was kind of weird how his voice suddenly got a little growlier and yet more melodious when he switched languages. “Why do you keep saying shit to me in Spanish?”

Bakura’s white teeth stood out against his dark skin. “ _Porque te pones lindísimo cuando te encabronas, Marikita!_ ”

Marik gave him the finger as he went to take a shower, Bakura’s laugh echoing in his ears.

 

* * *

 

Calculus class was a bore. The professor dragged on and on, over-explaining the simple concepts. He wasn’t getting anywhere near the more complex subjects the syllabus promised, which made Marik think that the professor was going to rush them out at the end of the lecture, just as he had last time. Refreshing his Twitter feed yielded no new posts, and he knew his sister would demolish him if he interrupted her sleep with chitchat. He toyed with a few filters over some old selfies, but he quickly tired of it.

Hmmm. He looked over the heads of the students, many of which had laptops or tablets out and were scrolling through Facebook. Spotting a mess of grey hair closer to the front of the auditorium, he remembered that he had Bakura’s number on his phone. He couldn't tell what the Mexican was doing at this distance, but considering the general state of the class, Marik doubted he was really paying much attention at all.

“Hey Bakura,” he typed, then stopped. He didn't actually know what else to say. With a shrug, he sent the message just like that.

A loud _shing!_ , like the sound of a blade being drawn in a videogame or cartoon from down in front. Chuckling echoed throughout the class as everyone turned to look, and Marik's grin couldn't get any wider as he hurriedly sent Bakura another text, “Hi", before he could put his phone on silent.

Another loud _shing!_ and Marik couldn't contain his laughter as he half-stood from his chair to watch Bakura fumble for his phone, most of the class laughing with him. The professor cleared his throat pointedly, and Marik would have paid a significant sum for a look at Bakura's face in that moment.

After Bakura turned down the volume on his phone and the lecture got back on track, Marik was still feeling very smug with his revenge. When his own phone screen showed a notification, he eagerly tugged it down to reveal, “You're a fucking asshole" from Bakura. Marik had a hard time containing his laughter.

Sneaking his gaze to the right, then to the left, and seeing that none of the students in his vicinity were giving a rat's ass, he snuck a quick selfie of his victorious smirk. It was a little too dark, but it still looked good. Marik sent it to Bakura, captioned, “Shing!” It wasn't his cleverest caption by far, but he wanted to add salt to the wound while it was fresh.

From this far back, Marik couldn't detect any reaction from Bakura, and for the first time he wished he was closer. He sat back in his chair to wait for the Mexican's reaction. It took longer than expected, and it was a slow crawl with the professor's droning and the lack of interesting Tweets. Marik thought about sending a follow-up jab, or maybe “accidentally" resending the image, but he decided against it. He didn't want to give the impression that he was eagerly awaiting Bakura's reaction, even though he was eagerly awaiting Bakura's reaction.

It was almost the end of class when he finally received a notification. Bakura had sent a media message, apparently. Marik expected a picture of a middle finger, but that wasn't at all what he had received.

Smirking back at him was his own face, but with bright blue eyeshadow, gaudy red lipstick and long, curly yellow hair. The image was captioned, “What I expected to see leaving the bathroom, considering how much time you were in it.”

Marik had to make a conscious effort to relax his grip on his phone. He could not _believe_ that-

The professor dismissed the class. Marik immediately moved to intercept Bakura, but the Mexican disappeared into the crush of students pouring out of the auditorium.

It was only later, when he was leaning on the kitchen counter and accidentally opened the altered selfie again, that he laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the image. Bakura had photoshopped _mascara_ onto his eyelashes, and when he peered closely there was even a hint of pink blush. He forwarded the image to Odion and Ishizu, laughing even harder as he pictured their reactions.


	4. The Add/Drop Date

On Saturday morning, Marik slept in an extra hour, and when he awoke he felt like a million bucks. The view of the sky from his window was a clear, cloudless blue, and the sun shone bright. A perfect day for a ride. He trotted to the bathroom, eager to enjoy the roar of his engine and the wind whipping past him.

When he finished his shower and strode to the kitchen for breakfast, he found Bakura at the dining table eating toast. The Mexican was shirtless again, and Marik sincerely hoped that he was wearing pants under the table. Bakura waved lazily at him, and Marik waved back as he entered the kitchen.

As he set about procuring his own breakfast, Marik realized that he was running out of a few essentials, and frowned. He supposed that he'd have to spend at least some of the day at the store, as much as he'd rather cruise on a highway to nowhere in particular. After finally settling on kefir, boiled eggs, and some leftover ful medames, he sat at the table across from Bakura, who stood up a moment later.

Marik raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he'd offended the grey-haired man somehow, and Bakura shook his head.

“Just gonna make some coffee. I've been dying for a _café con leche_.” He eyed Marik thoughtfully. “Do you want coffee too?”

Marik considered it for a moment, then decided that he didn't really need any caffeine today. “No, but thanks.”

Bakura shrugged as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Okay _Marikita_.”

Bakura kept calling him that, and Marik wondered if that was a Mexican thing or a Bakura thing. He didn't waste any more time thinking on it though, and got started on his breakfast. A few minutes later, Bakura reentered the dining room, sliding into his seat.

“Hey, _Marikita_ , I'm going to the Super Wal-Mart to pick up a few things I need. Wanna come with?”

Frowning, Marik tried to remember if he had seen one of those in the city. “Where _is_ the nearest one?”

Bakura made a vague easterly motion with his hand. “It's in the next town over. About an hour on bus.”

The horror on Marik's face at the thought of cramming himself in a bus for a whole hour must have been apparent.

Bakura shrugged again. “It's better than having to make two trips to the supermarket and to the closest Wal-Mart.”

Shaking his head, Marik opened his mouth to wish him luck on his journey, but what ended up coming out was, “Do you want a ride there?”

Surprised, Bakura asked, “You wouldn't mind?”

Marik would indeed mind, but he had already stuck his foot in his mouth. “Nah.” Marik paused, then added, “I'm leaving in ten.”

Bakura's eyes widened. “What?!” He jumped out of his chair and ran towards his bedroom, then he ran back into the kitchen to turn off the stove and hurriedly pour his coffee, cursing when a hot drop of coffee splashed onto his bare chest. Marik laughed at him, and only laughed harder when Bakura shot him the finger on the way back to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

He had managed to get dressed and finish making his _café con leche_ in record time. He was sitting on top of the dining table drinking his coffee, when Marik emerged from his bedroom in a black leather jacket and a helmet bag under each of his arms. Bakura breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the extra helmet. Marik grinned when he noticed.

“Yeah, I keep an extra helmet for whenever my brother visits to protect his big, bald head. Hopefully it'll fit you well enough, or you'll have to stay here.”

Bakura scowled at the idea of having rushed for no reason. Marik set the helmets on the table beside Bakura and pulled a large black one out of its bag.

“Normally I'd tell you to get your ass off the table, but I guess it helps now since you're so short.”

Bakura bared his teeth at Marik, but allowed him to place the helmet onto his head, his vision temporarily obscured. The Egyptian had moved in close to secure his chin strap, and Bakura resisted the urge to fidget. He was unused to having anyone so close, and having someone so close _and_ looking intently at him was extremely uncomfortable.

Once the chin strap was buckled, Marik tugged on the end until it was almost uncomfortably tight. Then Marik's eyes filled Bakura's field of view and Bakura couldn't help but notice that Marik had winged his eyeliner today. That was pretty gay, but damn if it didn't look g-

Marik grabbed the helmet from the back end and pulled _up_ , Bakura yelping in surprise and flailing for a moment before Marik let go. Bakura immediately scooted his ass backwards across the tabletop while Marik laughed at him.

“Congratulations, your head isn't quite as big as Odion's, but it's pretty close. You can ride,” Marik stepped back and scrutinized his outfit, “...as soon as you switch those shoes for boots and put on a good pair of gloves.”

Bakura gave him the finger as he deliberately dragged his ass back across the table before he got off it.

“Congratulations, you're a grade-A asshole and if you do that again, _te voy a poner este casco de supositorio_.”

Marik just made shooing motions at him, so Bakura reluctantly returned to his room to put on gloves and boots. When he returned, Marik was leaning against the wall by the front door, helmet already on and engrossed with his gold iPhone. Bakura stood in front of him and waiting for Marik to get moving, but when he didn't, Bakura scowled.

“Hey, are we leaving yet or-”

Marik yelped in surprise, lavender eyes darting upwards to meet Bakura's and his grip on his iPhone loosened. Bakura laughed as Marik swiped at the empty space just above the falling phone, then Bakura snatched it easily out of the air. With a grin, Bakura stepped backwards to look at the phone and snoop on whatever Marik was looking at, automatically batting away Marik's hands as he tried to retrieve it. Marik had been looking at the route on Google Maps. Disappointed to not have found anything hilarious to tease Marik about, he let the Egyptian steal back his fancy smartphone.

Marik's voice was slightly muffled by his helmet as he yelled, “Bakura, what the fuck! You almost broke my phone!”

Grinning, Bakura playful flicked the phone's faux gold backing. “ _You're_ the one who dropped it. You should be thanking _me_ for saving you $700.”

Marik looked so offended that Bakura added a saucy wink before opening the front door, earning himself a light smack to the helmet from Marik.

“I wouldn't have dropped it if you hadn't scared the shit out of me for no good reason, you piece of shit.” Marik followed him out of the apartment and locked the door.

“Well, consider it payback for trying to snap my fucking neck with that helmet, _chingado_.”

“You fucking ingrate, I was making sure the helmet wouldn't come off your nearly-empty noggin. That's what I get for trying to keep your dumb ass from being a smear on the concrete.”

“Oh, so you're saying that you're such a shit driver that there's a good chance of us getting into an accident, _baboso_?”

They bickered their way down the stairs to the underground parking garage. Once they entered the garage, Marik made a beeline to the motorcycle parking, stopping in front of a brand new, bright red motorcycle. The Egyptian patted the machine's headlight lovingly, then pointed to the trunk mounted on its rear.

“That's all the space we have for groceries, so don't buy too much bulky shit.”

Bakura moved closer to gauge how much stuff he could actually buy. The trunk was a lot bigger than the ones he usually saw, but it still couldn't compete with the trunk of a car. He ran his fingers idly across the glittery red surface of the trunk as he thought. After deciding that all the things he planned to buy should fit neatly into one half of the trunk, he nodded.

“Yeah, that's fine. Should work.”

Marik was watching his hand intently, and he guessed that Marik was making sure Bakura didn't scratch the paint. He rapped his fingernails to watch Marik wince and laughed in delight when he actually did. Marik scowled at him then, and lightly smacked Bakura's hand away from his bike.

“Don't scratch the paint, Bakura! Okay, how many times have you actually ridden a motorbike before?”

Thinking back, Bakura recalled one experience on a moto taxi back in Mexico when he was much younger. Actually, now that he thought of it, that wild ride had ended in tears and a strong desire to barf. Hmm, perhaps this wasn't his best idea yet.

“....Once before. Why?”

Marik rolled his eyes. “A newbie. Okay, let's see you mount.” He lowered the passenger foot pegs and stood back.

Bakura eyed the motorcycle uncertainly, then climbed onto the backseat. He rested his feet on the pegs, then looked to Marik to see if he had done it right. Apparently he had, because Marik only pointed at the exhaust pipe.

“Don't touch that, it gets hot, and don't take your feet off those pegs, even when I stop. Don't try to ‘help’ me turn, either, it makes it easier to fall over.”

Marik motioned for him to get off the bike, and after a moment, Bakura did, watching him confusedly. Marik then mounted the bike and half-turned to gesture Bakura to climb on again, and he complied. He had to sit pretty close to Marik's back, and his hands hovered tentatively near Marik's sides. He knew he was supposed to hold on to his waist, but he wasn't sure how-

Marik grabbed his hands and pressed them impatiently on either side of his waist.

“Don't fucking fall off, Bakura, my insurance won't cover you.”

Bakura hurriedly tightened his grip on Marik's waist, making sure he had a strong grasp on Marik's body and not just his jacket.

Marik continued, “If you need me to pull over or whatever, just tap my shoulder a few times, because I won't be able to hear you once the engine's on. Got it?”

“Yeah, stop talking and start rolling.”

Bakura heard the smirk in his voice when Marik responded, “Now you're talking my language.”

Marik kicked up the stand and the engine roared to life underneath them. Bakura's grip on Marik and grip on the bike tightened automatically, and he could have sworn that he felt a chuckle rumble in Marik's chest despite the engine's vibrations. When the bike started moving backwards, out of the parking space, Bakura's stomach lurched, and he began to feel like this decision might have been somewhat of a mistake.

 

* * *

 

Marik never felt more at home than on the open road, the wind tearing away all of his calculations, thoughts and worries, leaving behind only a fierce kind of freedom that was powerful and dangerous, but invigorating. He couldn't wait to hit the highway and accelerate until everything melted away.

He hadn't ridden with a passenger for a while, and Bakura didn't ride like Odion did. Odion's presence was as staunch and immobile as his personality, and his brother kept a solid grip on him and the bike, stock-still even on the wildest rides.

Bakura didn't. As they pulled out of the parking space, Bakura's grip had tightened on his waist. They had barely left the lot, bike accelerating to a measly 30mph when he felt Bakura inching closer, closing the gap between Marik's back and his chest. It was weird, to have someone so close to his back. Odion always stayed a respectful distance away, even when they were riding hard, hurtling down desert roads at maximum speed.

They had just gotten onto the ramp to the highway when Bakura's grip changed, and he threw his arms around Marik's waist to press himself more securely against Marik's back, his helmet pressed between Marik's shoulder blades. It was startling and highly uncomfortable to have someone's body pressed up against his scars, but he couldn't take his focus off the road and so he ignored it.

He let the wind tear away everything that wasn't the road and the blue sky, and for a good while, he was free.

 

* * *

 

Marik sighed when he spotted a sign announcing his upcoming exit. Time always flew by too quickly when he rode, and all too soon he was rolling down the ramp and dropping his speed. It wasn't much longer until he pulled into a parking space at Wal-Mart, rolling to a stop. He noticed then, with a grin, that Bakura's arms were still wrapped tightly around his waist.

Marik turned off the engine, took off his helmet and half-turned to see if he could catch any of Bakura's embarrassment. Bakura was still clinging to Marik a few moments later, then he cautiously lifted his head to look around. When the grey eyes spotted Marik's grin, Bakura immediately let go of Marik and sat up straight, as if he hadn't been practically glued to the Egyptian for the past half-hour. Marik laughed at him as Bakura pointedly looked away, and Marik knew that he wasn't taking his helmet off because he was probably blushing under there.

Feeling merciful, Marik kicked down the stand and climbed off the bike first. He turned back to say something, but then he saw Bakura remove his helmet. The sun struck Bakura's silvery hair as he shook it out, still mounted on the motorcycle. The sunlight brought out the bronze undertones of Bakura's rich brown skin and trailed fire down the pale scar cutting across his face. When Bakura's eyes meet Marik's, his grey irises reflected a hint of the blue sky, and a touch of the red from his leather jacket and the motorcycle beneath him. Marik couldn't have looked away from his beautiful eyes and pale eyelashes and thick eyebrows and that scar… Why hadn't he noticed how dashing it made Bakura look, like a rogue straight out of a fairytale with a blood-red cloak and a mission-

Bakura was grinning and Marik tore his eyes away, ignoring him in favor of unlocking the motorcycle's trunk to stow away his helmet. Even though he shouldn't be surprised anymore, he still jumped a little when Bakura's helmet was suddenly in his field of vision, Bakura himself at his side. Marik also ignored his chuckle as he snatched away the helmet and stored it next to his, locking the trunk.

He then remembered how Bakura had clung to him on the ride and asked slyly, “Bakura, if you were _scared_ , then why didn't you tap my shoulder? I could have called you a Uber to get you back to the apartment.”

Bakura scowled as he turned away. “I wasn't scared, I just wasn't certain about your driving ability after all that talk of crashing.”

Marik wasn't fooled, but as Bakura walked away towards the Wal-Mart, he noticed that his red jacket had a white, winged snake embroidered across its back. For a moment, Marik was reminded of his own back, of the engraved images he could never bear to see. Then Bakura turned and motioned at Marik to walk faster.

“ _Vámonos, Marikita, antes de que cierren la tienda_.”

Marik shook the thoughts out of his mind and jogged to catch up.

“If you keep talking to my in Spanish instead of English, I'm going to leave you here, asshole!”

“ _Jodete, Marikita!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Marik lost track of Bakura soon upon entering the store, suddenly noticing that he was talking to himself as he pushed his shopping cart. He shrugged, then continued his shopping. A couple of times he spotted him looking pensively at products or pushing his cart along, but when Marik went to pay for his groceries, the Mexican was nowhere in sight. After he paid the cashier, he moved to stand next to the entrance, scowling as he pulled out his phone to text Bakura.

“If you're not at the door within the next ten minutes, I'm ditching your tiny ass.”

He spent a couple of minutes of Twitter before he heard the _ding ding_! of a text message.

“I'll be there in three. And if I were you, I wouldn't even bring up the topic of ass size, Marikita.”

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Marik's ass was just fine! He might have skipped leg day a couple of times, but-

He quickly texted back, “I'm not sure how you you've gotten away without looking at my ass properly considering your height, so you might need some glasses.  ” He added the glasses emoji to drive his point home.

A couple of minutes on a gymrat forum, then, _ding ding_!

“There's nothing to see, sorry.   "

Marik was about to send a scathing text back when Bakura showed up. He had a few bags of items hanging from his arms and a smirk on his face.

“Don’t worry,” said Bakura. “Now that we’re done shopping, you can gaze at my ass all you like!”

“Are you kidding me? I’d have to sit on the floor to get a good look because you’re so fucking short.”

Bakura laughed. “Well, if that’s what you want to do, who am I to crush that wonderful dream? Though Wal-Mart’s not quite the appropriate place,” and he smirked up at Marik again, “unless you’re into that.”

Marik’s look of horror must have said it all, because Bakura cackled delightedly at his expression and walked out the door, heading towards Marik’s motorcycle. Following reluctantly, Marik purposefully did _not_ look at Bakura’s ass because that would be ridiculous…

But then Marik had opened the trunk of his motorcycle and Bakura was leaning over a little to push his stuff further inside. The Mexican was wearing black jeans that clung nicely to his butt and while it wasn’t anything to Skype home about, it wasn’t too bad. He stuffed his own purchases in the trunk once Bakura was done, and luckily everything managed to fit, even if barely so.

Bakura already had his helmet on, so Marik couldn’t tell if he blushed, but he gave him a wide grin anyways before putting on his own helmet and mounting the bike. When Bakura placed his hands on Marik’s hips again, Marik snorted, and readjusted his arms to wrap around his body again.

“You’re not kidding anyone, Bakura.”

Some indistinct mumbling from behind him, but then Marik revved up the engine and Bakura was hugging him tight, head pressed between his shoulders and his chest against Marik’s back. Marik laughed, and didn’t notice until he got home that between the cold wind and the pressure of Bakura’s body against his, his scars hadn’t itched at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed while writing this that this story is a Modern AU where everything is the same as in our world except Marik has purple eyes and apparently no one is alarmed or amazed by this. Whoops!


	5. Office Hours

Parking his bike always felt like kind of a let-down after the thrill of the road. The air always felt hot and stuffy after a ride, even if he was parking outside. The effect was worse when he parked in a dingy underground garage like this one. Usually he felt the urge to immediately dismount and run up the stairs to his apartment, but this time Bakura was trying to defend his tight grip on Marik during the trip as they gathered their purchases from the trunk.

“Motorcycles are dangerous, you know.” Bakura had a pretty bad case of helmet hair, but as soon as he shook his hair out, it looked pleasantly disheveled again. “They don't even have any seatbelts and I didn't want to risk falling off.”

“Ah, so you were _scared_. Don't worry, _Bakurita_ ,” and Bakura looked surprised at the nickname. Marik continued with a grin, “We can catch a Uber next time so you don't have be terrified.”

A little flushed, Bakura moved to climb the stairs first, and Marik suspected it was to hide his expression. “I wasn't scared, just... concerned.”

Marik snorted. “If that was a grip of 'concern', I'd love to see a grip of fear.”

“Oh really?” Bakura sidled closer as they traversed the hallway. “Why, did you like it when I held you?”

“I would describe that as more of a death grip, really.” Marik bumped Bakura away from the front door with his shoulder so he could unlock it the normal way. He had to do some creative bag shuffling and grocery balancing, but they made it inside with their burdens.

After dumping his stuff on the dinner table, Marik started pulling out everything that needed to be refrigerated. He returned from settling his food in the fridge to find Bakura pulling an iPad out of his leather jacket. Arranged neatly on the table was a small collection of earphones, a short stack of memory cards, a couple of video games and a FitBit.

After watching Bakura set the iPad on the table as well, Marik asked, “How much stuff did you buy exactly? I didn't know you were loaded, Bakura.”

Bakura looked up at him and grinned. “I'm not rich, Marik, just _really_ into couponing.”

“What, really? You don't seem the type.”

Bakura's grin only grew wider. “Yes, it's a little unusual, isn't it? But you can save so much money if you just use the five-finger discount.”

Marik groaned, annoyed at himself for having walked right into such a bad joke. Bakura laughed delightedly, then pulled a handful of USB drives from his jacket pocket and added them to the collection. Marik was impressed despite himself. As he returned to the table to get the rest of his things, he lightly smacked the back of Bakura's head to chasten him for his dumb sense of humor. Bakura only cackled and gave him the bird.

Marik rested his arm on Bakura's shoulder as he watched the Mexican pull more (probably stolen) stuff out of his shopping bags. “And you're not even worried that I could call the cops on you for stealing all of this shit?”

Bakura stopped what he was doing and rolled his eyes up at Marik. “Yeah. Like _you're_ going to call the police on me.”

Marik eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Snorting, Bakura shooed Marik's arm off his shoulder. “Well, you're not exactly the most law-abiding citizen. Wouldn't it be terribly inconvenient if the police decided to check out this little place?”

His blood ran cold. “What are you talking about? All they would find is the stuff _you_ stole.”

Bakura turned to look him in the eye, a calculating look on his face. Finally he said, “Marik Ishtar. You're a man from the Middle East, in a densely populated American city with a closet full of illegal, high-caliber guns. How do you think the police will react?”

Some inkling on the panic Marik felt must have shown up on his face, because Bakura's eyes narrowed and he said, “I had _thought_ they were yours. They are, aren't they?”

With some effort, Marik managed a few words past the blockade in his throat. “How...? When...? Why...?”

Bakura watched him carefully. “I scouted out your apartment before I moved in. I wanted to make sure I wasn't moving in with a murderer or a gangster.”

Sincerely hoping that his face gave nothing else away, Marik asked, “If there were so many guns in my closet, then why did you move in?”

Bakura was still watching him closely, but he appeared to have passed some sort of test because he answered, “Because for some reason all of them are dusty and have child-safety locks on them, so it doesn't seen like you actually use them much, if at all. Plus, even though you have all those guns in your closet… you actually didn't have a single one within reach of your bed.” He looked puzzled at the thought.

Marik's blood boiled at the thought of someone rifling around his bed as he slept. Maybe he _should_ start keeping a gun near his bed, that would-

“So, Marik, what is up with all of those guns? You're a college student, are you planning on actually using them…?”

Marik physically recoiled at the thought. “God, no! No fucking way! It's bad enough just having them in the closet…!”

He sighed, knowing by the look of Bakura's expectant gaze that he wasn't going to drop this topic without a satisfactory explanation. He considered spinning a yarn about storing them for his military brother, but then he remembered that there was no way Bakura could report him to the police without coming under scrutiny himself.

Marik shrugged. “My mother died giving birth to me. My father raised me with my brother and sister. When _he_ died, we were left alone, without any income. The only thing of value in our house was my dad's old gun collection, so… we tried selling it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Turns out that most of what he had was illegal, so we had to look into illegal markets ourselves. We sold some of the guns, then one guy asked to trade one of the antiques for a couple of pistols.” Shrugging, he added, “One trade led to another, and before we knew it, we were in the illegal arms business.”

Bakura's eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Seriously?  ...How old were you?”

“Hmm… I was eleven when Dad died. We didn’t really start selling and trading until after I was twelve. My brother helped me run things, but my sister didn’t like it.” He neglected to mention that the little “family business” had quickly scaled to a bit of an international syndicate.

“If you were making so much money off the guns- and don’t give me that look, asshole, you’re always wearing gold jewelry, tailored outfits, and drive a $20k motorcycle- then what the hell are you doing here?”

Shrugging again, Marik started toying aimlessly with one of the shopping bags. “I didn’t want to be in the business any more. It almost got my brother killed. If my sister hadn’t interfered…” He shook his head to shake away the thought. “It was for the best that we left Egypt. I don’t want to run into anyone I used to know.”

Bakura still looked puzzled. “Why engineering? If you were already running what was apparently a successful business?”

After tying the shopping bag in a knot, Marik answered, “I already know how to run a business, so a business major would be kind of redundant. Well, I guess it would be useful to know the _legal_ way of running things. But what I'm really passionate about is motorcycles.”

He set down the bag as he daydreamed of the open road. “There's really nothing that can compare with the experience. Freedom, and control, and power. I always liked watching mechanics tinker with motorcycles, but I don't want to fix motorcycles, I want to design them. Make them cooler, stronger, faster, lighter, more efficient. Safer. When I find out that mechanical engineers do all of that, I knew what I wanted to do.”

He glanced at Bakura and his collection of stolen goods. “Why did you pick computer science, Bakura?” Marik grinned and ruffled his soft grey hair. “You don't _look_ like a nerd.”

Bakura swatted away his hand. “Stop that, _Marikita_!” He grinned. “Well, actually, I got into computer science because I'm very interested in the identity theft and network security field.”

Marik rolled his eyes. “Of course. And somehow I figure you're going to be more interested in the wrong side of it.”

Bakura's teeth shone white against his dark face as he winked saucily at Marik. “You caught me.” He just laughed when Marik lightly smacked the back of his head.

Slinging his arm around Bakura's shoulder, Marik gestured at the wide world before them. “Come on, Bakura, leave your life of crime behind and join me in a respectable career and an honest life.”

“No fucking way, Marik, I'm not a quitter like you!” He ducked out of Marik's hold, but bumped against his shoulder to show that he was kidding. Marik grinned and bumped back in mild retaliation.

Then Bakura turned his attention back to his groceries, rifling through the bags while looking for something. Marik supposed that meant the end of the conversation, but then Bakura spoke up again.

“It's funny, though. I was orphaned in my youth too, which also started my “life of crime,” as you call it.” He made air quotes and embellished them with an exaggerated expression of fake shock. Then he looked pensive. “I wonder how I would have turned out if my siblings had lived…? Anyways, I didn't have anything like a convenient gun inheritance. What got me where I am now- and I'm going to sound like a real fucking nerd now- was _la biblioteca_ , the public library.”

“Pffft, really?” Marik gave up on hovering next to the table and pulled up a chair instead, sensing that there was more to the story.

“Yup.” Bakura pulled out several huge spiky leaves out of one of his shopping bags. Marik didn't recognize what plant they belonged to, but by the looks of it, it probably belonged on some sort of cactus. “No one knows who you are on the internet, and the internet is so full of information. I heard there was real money in programming, on both sides of the law. Between odd jobs and school, I was always on the computer at the library, or waiting my turn while I read programming books.”

“Wow, you weren't kidding about sounding like a huge fucking nerd, Bakura.” Marik rested his head on his hands as he watched Bakura shuffle around in his pockets.

“Yeah, well, cyber crime is a little safer than life on the streets, especially if you're in Mexico.” He produced a knife from his jacket and Marik was temporarily startled, but all Bakura did was start to peel one of the weird leaves. “I started with website graphic design, which is super easy once you figure out that most clients would have no idea that you've used a free or cheap template, Ctrl+F and replaced their name and colors.”

Marik snickered. “Nice one. How much were you making with that scheme?”

Bakura looked up at the ceiling as he ran calculations, his hands pausing and his forefinger tapping the flat of the blade. “Well, I charged one group of suckers about… $380 for a… $15 dollar template? And three hours of work, tops.” He grinned. “They liked it so much, they recommended me to their friends. _Inocentes_.”

“Heh. Now I know not to ask you to do my website.”

Bakura winked at him again. “Ahh, but I was even going to offer you a good discount on my services.” He made a dismissive gesture with his knife. “Nowadays I mostly do bitcoin scams though, and I dabble a little bit in email spam and small-time viruses.” He said this casually, but the way Bakura glanced at Marik made it obvious that he hoped Marik would be impressed.

Marik grinned. “That sounds awesome, but can I ask what the actual fuck you're doing right now?” He pointed at Bakura's hands, which were still peeling the weird leaves.

“What, this? This is aloe vera. It's great at stopping scars from itching.” He sliced a bit of the leaf’s translucent green core and rubbed it against the large scar on his face to demonstrate. “I don’t know why, but my scars have been itchy as hell since I moved into this city.”

The aloe left what seemed like a slimy trail on Bakura’s almond skin, and Marik leaned forward a little bit to watch in a mix of interest and mild disgust. “Does it really help?”

“Yeah, I usually keep a bunch of these plants wherever I go so I don’t have to keep buying overpriced leaves at the store.” He gave Marik a pointed look. “But since I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying…”

Marik rolled his eyes at Bakura’s less than subtle jab. “Fine, fine. You can stay here for the semester… I’m pretty sure I can put up with your nerd ass for a couple of months.” Bakura grinned delightedly, and Marik added, “As long as you get me some of that aloe vera too.”

Puzzled, Bakura started peering back at Marik, scrutinizing his bare skin. “What scars do you need treating? I've seen your arms, your skin is pretty much flawless.”

Marik waved away the compliment, though he felt a little smug to hear it. “Aloe is good for the skin in general too, I've seen it on creams at the store. I'd like to try it, especially since it'll be all natural.”

“Are you one of those organic food hippies, Marik?”

“I'm not a hippie, asshole, organic food is just healthier! I don't like eating chemicals!”

“I knew it! Where's your yoga mat?”

“Hey, fuck off Bakura, eating healthy and doing yoga doesn't make you a hippie!”

“There's no shame in being a flower child, Marik. Actually, never mind, there totally is, Mr. Age of Aquarius.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?!”

“Age of Aquarius? Haven't you heard the song?”

“...No.”

“What the fuck? Move your skinny ass over here, it's YouTube time.” Bakura held out an one of his stolen earphones enticingly. “I bet you'll like it, it's a real hippie classic.”

“I'm not a fucking hippie, Bakura!” He moved closer to listen anyways.

 

* * *

 

The following Tuesday, Bakura found himself in Calculus class with Marik at his side. Marik complained bitterly the whole walk there about the awful parking situation that forced him to walk like a peasant instead of riding in style like the rich bastard he was. Bakura had to revise his earlier opinion of Marik. He wasn't a hippie, he wanted to live large in the big city with his dirty gun money.

Honestly? He was mad jealous. Marik had already made it big and retired in style, while he was still relying on schmucks to keep his bank account from emptying. If there weren't idiots online every day keeping him afloat, he'd be between a rock and a hard place. But that was why he came here in the first place, to get the skills and resources he needed to rake in the cash, through legal, illegal and questionable means, until he finally had enough to-

A notification on his phone. Predictably, it was Marik. Luckily his phone was on silent today, and he noticed a quick, disappointed glance from his right. Bakura elbowed him lightly in the side for being an asshole, then opened the message.

“The first exams next week. Have you started studying yet?”

He supposed this was Marik's way of awkwardly inviting him to study together. That, or he wanted help.

“Not yet.” He left the ball in Marik's court. He wasn't sure how effective group studying was, but it was definitely better to find out at the beginning of the semester rather than at the end.

Sure enough, Marik texted back, “Want to study together? I have snacks.”

Ah, bribery. “Sounds good. I get out of my last class late today. How about tomorrow when you get back?”

“Perfect. Wait what do you even do on your days off you lucky bastard?”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “I plot to take over world in between online video game matches.”

A small, amused little huff of breath from beside him, and Marik texted back, “I would believe it. You’re enough of a nerd + you’re short enough to have a Napoleon complex.”

He bristled slightly. “I have an average height. What’s your excuse for your spindly legs?”

Even though his eyes were on the PowerPoint slides projected onto the front of the class, his attention was really on the furious tapping of Marik’s forefinger against the phone screen. ...Poor kid. Maybe he should introduce him to Swype?

“You don’t have to be jealous because I have a tall + lean body Bakura. If you worked as hard as I did to have a healthy + strong body then perhaps you too would be able to host a gun show.”

Bakura finally turned to look at Marik, who just flashed him a smug grin and slid his left arm onto Bakura’s little seat-desk, casually shoving off Bakura’s arm and notebook onto his lap. Once Bakura’s desk was clear and the Mexican was glaring daggers at him, Marik started flexing his bicep like a humongous tool.

Bakura had never been so glad to be in an auditorium class- everyone must have been focused on whatever the professor was saying because he didn’t hear any laughter. He tried to shove Marik’s arm off his desk, annoyed by the foreign fist blocking his view of the professor. When he touched Marik’s bicep, though, the Egyptian chose that moment to flex again, and suddenly hard muscle rippled beneath Bakura’s fingertips. He hurriedly let go after failing to push Marik’s arm away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Marik’s arms shifting from toned to ripped, a vein surfacing as his muscles bulged.

If the class hadn’t ended in that moment, Bakura had no idea how long he would have spent watching Marik flex, but he was saved when everyone started packing their bags and Marik pulled his arm away again. On principle, Bakura raised his middle fingers to salute Marik when the Egyptian stood, but Marik only patted his head condescendingly before heading out, bookbag slung over his (beautifully sculpted) shoulder. “See you later, _Bakurita_!”

Bakura fumed for a moment before he left the classroom. What a tool.


	6. Exam Review

By the time Marik arrived at the apartment after class, Bakura had covered the apartment in aloe plants and had flooded the air with the powerful scent of peppers and spices. Bakura waved at Marik when he came in, then ate another spoonful of his _birria_ , a comfort food he had finally gotten to whip up when he found the right spices crammed together in the “Ethnic Foods” section. There was a smaller bowl placed on the table so Marik to try the stew if he liked, and he was very pleased to see Marik's eyes light up at the sight.

“Oh hey Bakura, I didn't know you were making me dinner!”

Bakura was suddenly conscious of the drops of soup speckling his face and was very glad that his darker skin hid blushes fairly well. He looked away from Marik all the same as he discreetly wiped a few drops of stew from his chin.

“Yeah, felt like eating some _birria_. Thought you might want to try it, and I made extra, so…”

Marik grinned, closed the front door behind him, and set his messenger bag down next to the couch.

“Well, that's cool of you. And I see that you got some aloe plants too. Very cozy. Are you going to pull a puppy out now too?”

Snorting and almost choking on a piece of chili pepper, Bakura managed to recover with only a small cough. “Why in the world would I want another puppy? You're already a little bitch.” When Marik smacked the back of his head in retaliation, he only laughed, then watched Marik sit across from him and stir the soup curiously as he drank from his own bowl.  

Marik took a careful sip first, and by the way his head jerked back, Bakura knew he had been surprised by the heat of the spices. Hearing Bakura chuckle at his reaction seemed to spur Marik into eating another spoonful, and Bakura watched with amusement as Marik's eyes watered slightly. He wondered idly if the spice would be enough to make Marik's eyeliner run.

It wasn't, though Marik only drank about a third of the soup before pushing it away. Bakura did his best to look wounded at the gesture, clutching at his heart and gazing sadly upon the mostly-full bowl.

Marik rolled his eyes as he went to grab his water bottle from his bookbag. “Sorry I can’t handle your lava soup, Bakura. I can see why you’re not wearing a shirt while drinking it- it would probably burn holes through clothing.”

Bakura sniffed daintily, then poured the rest of Marik’s soup into his own bowl. “Well, I’m not letting it go to waste, goat is expensive!”

A weird _hurk_ , and then Marik was staring at Bakura with wide eyes, having spit out some of his water back into the bottle.

Bakura’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion and lips slightly pursed in indignation. “What?”

After coughing and wiping some of the spilled water off his chin, Marik gasped out,“There was… _goat_? In the _soup_?”

With his eyebrow arching up a little higher, Bakura replied, “Yeah. What, did you think it was chicken?”

Marik stared at him a moment longer, then chugged down half his bottle of water while Bakura watched, confused.

Marik finally choked out, “I know that you didn’t know this, but I’m a vegetarian. Please don’t ever give me anything with meat in it again. Ever. Thanks.”

A look of comprehension dawned on Bakura’s face. “Oh. Hm. Never would have guessed.” He scrutinized Marik’s arms. “You eat chicken though, right? You’re too buff to only eat salad.”

Annoyed, yet seemingly mildly flattered, Marik answered, “No, I don’t eat chicken, I don’t eat any meat at all. You don’t need meat to get protein if you know what you’re doing. And I don’t only eat _salad_ , asshole, there’s more to food than dead animals on your plate.”

Bakura snorted. “Yeah, snacks and sides.”

Marik rolled his eyes as he retreated to the kitchen to refill his water bottle. “You can’t eat meat for every meal, Bakura, that’s ridiculous. No one eats meat for breakfast, for example.”

With a scoff, Bakura shot back, “Wrong! There’s no better way to start your day than with eggs, or bacon or jerky- or all three!”

“That’s disgusting,” Marik yelled from the kitchen, “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am, my caveman ancestors didn’t fight their way to the top of the food chain so that I could eat grass like a cow.”

Bakura ignored Marik's shout of “That's ridiculous!” while he polished off the rest of his _birria_. When Marik returned to the dining room, Bakura playfully gave him the finger while he ate. Marik scoffed and lifted his nose in the air a little too haughtily for it to be genuine, and Bakura grinned as he watched Marik lean down to grab his bag from the couch, admiring his physique while chewing on his last chunk of goat. After Marik left towards his bedroom, Bakura gathered his bowls and cutlery and headed to the kitchen himself.

 

* * *

 

After the dishes were cleared, Bakura returned to the table and found Marik with a Macbook Air and notes laid out along with a box. There was Arabic writing on the sides, so Bakura figured it was the _halawa_ Marik had mentioned. One of pictures on the box reminded him of _turrón_ , a Spanish treat.

He continued on to his room, where he fetched his Android tablet and charger. He had downloaded the PDF version of the textbook a week ago (illegally, of course), and had scribbled his notes onto its virtual margins. He also took a small ream of paper and a pencil with him, along with an eraser and his fanciest graphing calculator. It was a good idea to double-check their answers as they went along, plus he had a Pokémon Blue ROM loaded in there that he could play when they took a break.

Upon returning to the dinner table, he started setting down his stuff on his half of the space, but the table was small and his calculator was a little too close to the edge for comfort. He commandeered the third chair and set the extra paper and his calculator on its seat. Marik waited for him to sit down, then nudged the _halawa_ toward him. Bakura obligingly opened the box and took out what looked like a candy bar.

“Thanks, Marik.”

“No problem, my sister wouldn’t let me leave the country without at least three boxes of these.”

That piqued his curiosity, and he decided to try it right away instead of leaving it for later. The _halawa_ turned out to be a dry, crumbly yellowish bar with chocolate brown swirls in it. Taking a bite as he unlocked his tablet screen, he decided that it mostly just tasted like peanuts, in a good way.

“Not bad. What’s it made out of? Peanuts?”

“Nope, sesame seeds. Now get your ass to Chapter 3, I’m having trouble with this one problem on Infinite Limits.”

“ _Tranquilo_ , let me scroll down this PDF first- it’s huge, so the pages take forever to load.”

Blowing his bangs out of his face in a ridiculous display of exasperation, Marik moved the box of _halawa_ to the chair where Bakura had put the rest of his stuff, then turned his laptop around to show the offending problem to the Mexican.

“If you take the limit to infinity on this one, don’t you just get infinity minus two infinities? Which should be a negative infinity. But the back of the book says it’s a positive infinity? What the fuck? Is it just a misprint?”

Bakura snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. They barely bother to check this shit before printing out a million overpriced copies.” Tapping lightly at the screen with a fingernail, Bakura added, “Did you factor out the x4 here before you applied the limit?”

“Factor it-” Marik turned the laptop back around to see what Bakura was talking about, then scrolled up a few pages to reread the explanation. “...Oh shit, yeah. Thanks, let me try that.”

“No problem.” Bakura idly itched at the scar on his face as he kept scrolling down to the right page. Once he found the problem set, he put up the tablet’s kickstand and started copying down onto paper some of the more difficult ones from the end of the section. Once he had those down, he continued to the other sections that were supposed to be on the test, copying down all the difficult ones.

Marik peered over at Bakura’s sheet. “What, you’re not going to solve them all?”

“What? Why would I solve all of them? Who has time for that, this test is covering five sections and they all have over twenty questions.”

“Oh.” Marik looked down at his own sheet, then scooted his chair over to copy from Bakura. “My dad always made me solve all of them, but I think your way’s probably better.”

Marik’s right shoulder pressed against Bakura’s left as he peered at the problems and copied them down, his blond hair sweeping lightly over Bakura’s bare skin. Bakura snuck a glance at him and watched his gold earring swing and catch the light. It seemed heavy enough to be real gold, and considering what Marik had told him of his past, it probably was. He was trying to figure out how much those earrings would retail for when Marik caught him looking and smirked.

To distract him, Bakura teasingly flicked his earring, satisfied by the clink. “Don't these get heavy?”

Marik jerked away in surprise, then narrowed his eyes at him playfully. “Why, are you looking for a chance to steal them?”

With an answering smirk, Bakura drawled out an equally playful “Perhaps.”

A flick of his wrist and the earring slipped off its owner, and then Bakura was holding it up to his own ear. “I think I'd look good in them. What do you think?”

Marik blinked at him, then his right hand drifted to his bare ear, groping at empty air for a second before he yelped, “Bakura!” The thief only laughed delightedly as Marik stole back the earring and put it on, then shouldered him in retaliation. “You asshole!”

Cackling as he playfully shouldered Marik back, Bakura said, “You’re just lucky I don’t have my ears pierced, or I’d be rocking those earrings right now!”

Marik laughed at him. “Well, if you get your ears pierced, then I promise I'll let you wear my earrings long enough to get a good picture.”

Bakura snorted at the unbidden thought of wearing ridiculously huge chandelier earrings. “Not sure that I need another easy descriptor for the police sketch artist. Short brown guy with grey hair, a scar in his face, and gold earrings.”

“Hey, you're already unmistakable, so why not flaunt what you've got?” Marik winked at him playfully and Bakura looked away before his face could flush at the compliment. Marik laughed again and shouldered him lightly once more before tapping the dark screen of Bakura's tablet with his fingernails. “But for now, let's get back to work, fashionista.”

After a good eyeroll, Bakura woke up his tablet, swiped away his notifications after quickly scanning through them, then returned to the calculus textbook. Marik turned his laptop around so that it was facing them, and woke it up. His background was a fancy-looking motorcycle decked in purple and black, though the bluish haze around the motorcycle suggested that it had been poorly Photoshopped into the right color.

“How about using your tablet to look at the questions and my laptop for the actual textbook while we work through each problem?”

“Hmm, sounds fine to me. As long as you can keep up.” Bakura shot him a playful, pointed look. “Don't prove the blonde stereotypes right, Marik.”

“What? Blonde stereotypes? What's that supposed to mean?” Marik's tone carried an edge of suspicion to it.

“You've never heard a blonde joke?”

“No? It's not like there are a whole lot of blondes in Egypt.”

Bakura briefly wondered whether Marik's hair was bleached and was about to ask when he noticed that Marik's lips were pressed into a hard line, and he had lost his look of amusement.

He backpedaled quickly. “Well, I'm a pretty poor comedian, which is why I've got to do these Calculus problems. Speaking of which, umm... 3-16 looks like the example we did in class.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I remember this one.” Marik smirked. “Your phone interrupted the professor while he was working it out.”

Annoyed, but glad that Marik no longer looked weirdly pissed off, Bakura shot back, “Ha ha, yes, a wonderful memory, for which you had no responsibility whatsoever. Fucker.”

Marik just laughed at him before finally starting to work out the problem. Bakura did the same, occasionally referring back to his notes to double-check some of the procedures.

Marik’s right arm brushed against Bakura’s whenever he took a closer look at a problem or diagram on the tablet. It was distracting, but since Marik was sitting to Bakura's left this time, at least their arms didn't keep brushing together every time either of them wrote. It had been a constant annoyance during class the last time.

Bakura wasn't used to having anyone so near, and it was worse since his roommate lightly jostled him every time he moved. The Egyptian's education had lacked in both blonde jokes and the concept of personal space, apparently. There was so much space around the table, did Marik really need to crush himself against Bakura's side?

Though, to be fair, the Egyptian's presence wasn't too bad. He had pointed out a few errors in Bakura's calculations, his presence forced Bakura to actually study instead of trawling the internet and he smelled really good. He was wearing some sort of fancy cologne, woodsy with a hint of musk and a kick of spice, and Bakura couldn't help leaning in a tiny bit to catch a better whiff-

“Bakura, you're still not done with 5-21? Don't make me leave you behind!”

“Hey, fuck off, you kept shaking your leg the whole time the professor explained this section, and knocking my fucking pencil off the desk.”

Marik snorted. “You can remember _that_ but not the formula the professor went over yesterday?”

“Bite me, Marik.” He gave Marik the finger, and they were so close that Marik almost had to cross his eyes to see the gesture. Bakura couldn't help but laugh when he saw Marik's head jerk back slightly and those bright violet eyes trying to focus on his hand. Marik then narrowed his eyes playfully at him and raised his hand to curl Bakura's rude finger back down.

“Maybe after we finish studying.” He winked saucily at Bakura, and Bakura's stomach fluttered in a way organs weren't meant to. He stole his hand back from Marik's warm grasp and wrenched his eyes away from Marik's grin and back to his tablet. He scratched at his scar in an attempt to cover his cheek while his complexion returned to its normal shade of brown. Marik laughed at him again and nudged against him in a good-natured way before starting to fiddle with his phone, leaving Bakura to finish the math problem.

When Bakura finally finished working out the math (heroically managing to not get distracted by the brushing of Marik's warm, muscled arm against his), he was relieved to see that his answer matched the one in the book.

Marik noticed that he was done and grinned, grabbing Bakura's wrist and lifting his hand up in the air, proclaiming, “He finally made it, folks! Round Five is finally over!” as if Bakura had been in a wrestling ring. Bakura bore the indignity a few more moments, rolling his eyes even though he grinned, then pulled his arm away.

“So does that mean we're taking a break?”

Marik considered it, then grinned. “Yeah, why not? We're halfway through already and you look like you're having trouble paying attention.”

He turned to grab his calculator as an excuse to hide his face. “Well, it's not exactly the most riveting topic ever.” Bakura hoped desperately that Marik hadn't noticed what (or rather, who) in particular had been distracting him.

A chuckle of agreement, then Marik was nudging Bakura again. “Hey, I thought we agreed to a break! Why are you getting out the calculator again?”

Bakura answered by pulling up the start screen for Pokémon Blue and turning it towards Marik, who merely looked puzzled. “Pokémon? What's that?”

Unable to hide his expression of abject horror at Marik's ignorance, Bakura quickly cleared the table and put calculator in Marik's hands. “You're going to learn today! Here, hit enter, I can't believe you managed to evade Pokémon for so long, what the hell?”

Amused by Bakura's sudden enthusiasm, he shrugged, then leaned against his side as he held the calculator between them. “Guess you could say I was living under a rock? I didn't know that video games came on calculators though, I thought there were special machines?”

“Ah yes, of course there are! But I downloaded a copy of this game onto the calculator because it's easy enough for the calculator to run. Here, let's start a new file, you need to experience this, seriously.”

Marik indulged him, following Bakura's instructions until he got the hang of the game's flow, choosing Charmander as his starter and starting his journey. Bakura relaxed against Marik's shoulder as he watched the game, occasionally looking up at Marik's face. He looked focused and intent, almost a little angry, during battles, but when he won, his face would relax into a grin that made Bakura's heart beat a little faster.

“I can't believe you named your starter Breaktime, that's the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. Until you started catching and naming other Pokémon, at least. My ‘most stupid thing’ list is growing along with your Pokédex.”

“Fuck you, I can name it whatever the hell I want. Keep it up and I'll name the next thing I catch BakuraSucks.”

“Considering the shitty names you're giving them, that's a major improvement.”

“You see this Rattata? I'm going to catch it and it's going to be BakuraSucks.”

“Well, then it would be in the top percentage of Rattata.”

When Marik shot him a look of confusion, Bakura only grinned and tapped at the calculator screen. Marik cursed once he saw that his Great Ball had missed. Bakura's grin faded into a smile as he watched Marik play Pokémon, feeling warm and comfortable leaning against Marik's side and amused at Marik's terrible naming abilities.

It was with great reluctance that he stopped Marik before he reached Brock in order to continue studying, but Marik's request to keep playing when they finished made him smile again. It wasn't long before they finished their review and were back in Kanto, pressed together at the kitchen table and bickering about Pokémon names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Halawa is more well known as halvah, as far as I can tell, but halawa is apparently the regional term in Egypt which is why I used it.


	7. Mid-Semester Break

It was with intense relief that Marik opened his apartment door, helmet under one arm and several bags of groceries hanging from his hand. He had just had his last midterm and was more than ready for a long weekend of relaxation before all of their final group projects started. Bakura had promised to get Marik up to speed with American pop culture as long as Marik brought snacks home with him.

He wasn't sure what “getting him up to speed with American pop culture" entailed, exactly. There were probably movies or videos involved, so he also brought popcorn with him from the store.

Bakura emerged from the hallway after Marik shut the door, wearing only shorts again. He was carrying his laptop and balancing a coiled wire on top of it. When Marik nodded a greeting at him, Bakura shot him a grin and gestured at Marik's shopping bags with his chin.

“Cool, you brought snacks! Which soda did you bring?” He set his laptop on the coffee table and started unwrapping the wire, watching Marik set the groceries down on the dinner table.

Marik scoffed. “I didn't bring any soda. That stuff's terrible.”

Bakura looked offended. “Rule number one of American culture: All social gatherings require soda.”

“Don't you mean alcohol?”

“No, alcohol's not family-friendly. And besides, you can always add alcohol to soda.”

Marik made a face at the idea, and Bakura finished plugging in the HDMI cord into the TV before heading over to check out what else Marik had brought.

“Marik, what is this? Skinny Pop? Where's the theatre-style popcorn? Clearly we'll have to extend the lesson to American-style eating later on.”

“Fuck you, you can go get the snacks next time, asshole.”

Bakura’s fake gasp only made Marik roll his eyes. “Is that any way to address your teacher? What a lack of respect!”

“Oh, shut up. Finish setting up the movie, Tech Support, while I pop this apparently offensive popcorn.”

“Sounds like a plan, _kouhai_!”

Marik had no idea what that meant. For some reason, he still couldn’t help but mirror Bakura’s grin.

 

* * *

 

Bakura was already sprawled on the couch when Marik arrived with the popcorn, live footage of a soccer game playing on the TV and the remote resting on Bakura's bare belly.

“Hey Marik, can you hit the lights? It's movie time.”

After Marik obliged and turned off the lights, only the laptop, the TV screen and a night light lit up the living room. He set the popcorn next to the laptop on the coffee table, and he looked at Bakura's face, then pointedly at his bare legs taking up all of the seating room on the sofa.

Bakura only wiggled his toes cheekily at him until Marik started squatting, pretending that he was about to sit on Bakura's legs. That forced Bakura to retract his legs and sit up. Marik sneered victoriously at Bakura's raised middle finger before sitting down in the now-unoccupied space.

Leaning back into the leather couch cushions, Marik watched as Bakura turned on the TV with the remote and leaned forward towards the laptop. The glow of the TV screen turned Bakura's pale grey hair into a kaleidoscope of colors, a field of wildflowers emerging from the snow.

Suddenly flashes of solid blue and black lit up Bakura's hair before the image of a giant footprint in the mud appeared on both the laptop screen and the TV. The muddied colors weren't as eye-catching when reflected on silver hair, but when Bakura's grey eyes met his, the blueish scene on screen tinted his irises.

“Uhh, you ready to start, Marik?”

In the partial darkness it was hard to see, but Marik thought that perhaps Bakura's cheeks were a touch redder than usual. Bakura lifted a hand to scratch at the bottom of the long, pale scar that cut down his face for a moment, in a way that seemed almost nervous, and then Marik realized that he hadn't replied to Bakura at all during the last several seconds.

“Oh, um, yeah! Let's see this-” He peered at the logo on the screen, “Jurassic Park? Am I, uh, saying that right?

“Yeah, you got it.” Bakura settled back into the couch beside him. “I figured you probably hadn't seen it.”

“You were right. ...Wait, what does this movie have to do with American culture, exactly?” Marik gestured at the TV. “All there is on the screen is a giant footprint. Is this about dragons or something? You look like the right kind of nerd.”

Bakura mock-scowled at the accusation, making his broad nose and his long pale scar wrinkle in an interesting way. “Hey! First of all, this is _not_ a dragon movie, for your information.” Marik grinned as he watched Bakura actually hold up his fingers, even though the lights were off. “Second of all, I'm not going to bore us to death with shitty documentaries, you're going to learn about Americans by watching them. Third of all, fuck you, dragons are awesome and you don't have to be a nerd to appreciate them.”

Marik snickered and pulled Bakura into a headlock, ruffling his surprisingly soft hair. Ignoring his muffled curses and indignant squirming, Marik told him, “I'm glad that you care so deeply about my well-being, and are self-aware enough to admit that you're a nerd.”

When Bakura was managed to get out of Marik's grip, he sat up with a muttered “ _Come-mierda_ " and ran his fingers through his hair, fixing it while Marik watched in amusement. He hadn’t realized that Bakura’s hair was supposed to stay a _particular kind_ of messy. Bakura then gave Marik a light shove in retaliation, which only made Marik laugh and scoot closer, just to bother him.

Bakura shot a mild glare at Marik's unrepentant expression, then rolled his eyes. “I'm in computer science, of course I'm a nerd. Now shut up so we can watch the movie.”

Marik only laughed as Bakura started the movie, leaning back gingerly into the faux-leather couch and catching a glimpse of Bakura's red-tinted cheeks when the TV screen brightened enough. They were sitting close enough together that as the opening scenes started, Bakura's arm brushed against Marik's whenever he reached up to scratch at his scar. It was kind of annoying, so Marik shouldered Bakura lightly. He got a confused glance back, and Marik caught a glimpse of vivid greens and blues reflected on grey irises, and Bakura turned back towards the TV almost hurriedly before Marik could manage to look away.

It was really tempting to punish his friend for looking good all the time without any apparent effort by means of another noogie, but Marik valiantly resisted the urge.

Wait, when had he started thinking of this nerdy interloper as his friend?

He supposed that hanging out with Bakura _was_ entertaining, and definitely better than being alone. Bakura was more fun to talk to than Odion or Ishizu, even if he often said stuff that didn’t make any sense. And sometimes, in moments like this, Bakura actually-

The motherfucker was scratching his scar again, didn’t he know that _you’re not supposed to scratch at scars_ -

The wide-eyed look of surprise that Bakura shot at him when Marik grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face was supremely gratifying, and the way Bakura definitely turned redder when Marik held his hand captive between them was honey on the cake. Marik watched Bakura’s face to see if he minded, but after a few darted glances between Marik’s eyes, their hands, and the TV, Bakura’s fingers curled around Marik’s even though Bakura’s gaze was fixed firmly on the TV.

Marik grinned, satisfied, and turned his own gaze back towards the screen, giving Bakura’s hand a light squeeze.

When Marik felt Bakura’s warm hand twitch in his as they watched a filthy Jeep driving through heavy rain, he learned that running his thumb lightly over Bakura’s hand made him settle back into the couch. Marik kept tracing his thumb over the soft skin of his hand, discovering a little nick and the start of a shallow scar on the back of Bakura’s hand.

He still wasn’t sure what rampaging dinosaurs had to do with American culture, but he appreciated the lesson anyway.

 

* * *

 

Over the next two days, they watched Pacific Rim, and Mean Girls, and 21 Jump Street until they ran out of Marik’s supposedly offensive popcorn and snacks. Between bickering about Pokémon names and which species to train, they beat Brock, Misty, and Lt. Surge, barely. Despite Marik’s protests, Bakura ordered in pizza Monday night, half of it Meat Lover’s, half of it Veggie Delight.

Marik had to admit that pizza was a pretty excellent experience, even if he was sure he would have to double up on his cardio for the next two weeks to burn it all off. For now, he had consented to watch some Star Trek before heading to bed, and Bakura, shirtless as usual, set up his laptop.

Once Bakura was done and leaned back into the couch, Marik dropped onto the seat beside him and slipped his hand into Bakura's, as he had grown accustomed. He hadn't grown tired of the way Bakura looked surprised and almost shy each time he did it, lit up by the laptop and TV screens in the darkness of the living room.

This time, Bakura's mouth hung open a little, and Marik noticed a little scar near the corner of his lips.

“Marik…. Isn't this a little… you know.”

“What?”

Bakura tried again. “Isn't this a little… gay?”

Perplexed, Marik furrowed his brow and looked at Bakura, at himself, at the screens, around the room for some sort of clue as to what Bakura was talking about.

“Gay?”

Bakura just looked at him expectantly, then, surprised that Marik hadn't noticed it, he looked down pointedly at their joined hands. Marik rubbed his thumb along Bakura's hand again and Bakura lifted their hands up to face-level.

“Marik, this is pretty gay. Holding hands is pretty gay.”

“What? Don't be ridiculous, of course holding hands isn't gay. What the hell?! Since when is holding hands gay?!”

“It's… Literally always been gay to hold hands with another dude, Marik.”

Marik rolled his eyes incredulously.

"Bakura, if holding hands were gay, then no Egyptian guys would be doing it in public because gay stuff is ILLEGAL! Besides, what about holding hands could possibly be gay? Little kids and families and friends hold hands, it's not gay."

Bakura dropped their hands back down onto the couch and Marik automatically gave his hand a squeeze before he realized what he was doing.

Bakura looked a little agitated now.

"Marik, when two unrelated guys hold hands, that's not friendly, that's gay!” He paused for a moment. “At least it is here, and in Mexico, and in all of the Americas actually!"

"But what is it about holding hands that is gay? Do gay guys get, like, some sort of weird kinky pleasure from touching hands?” Marik let go of Bakura's hand and raised his in mock-fear. “Are hands erotic now? What about high-fives, are high-fives gay?"

"No, of course high-fives aren't gay! They're over in a second!"

"Ohhh so it's like a time limit? How long can I hold your hand before it gets gay? What if I let go and then held your hand again right away? Is it still gay then?"

"Marik, people only hold hands here with their parents or romantic partners, so if two guys are holding hands, they're gay."

There was a weird note of finality in Bakura's words, so Marik gave up trying to break his delusion.

"That's lame, holding hands is nice! Well, whatever, in Egypt it isn't gay and in here it isn't gay because this is my apartment and I say so. You're my friend, so I'll hold your hand if I want to!” He grabbed Bakura's hand again, then paused and peered more closely at his face. “...And if you don't mind."

Bakura was definitely redder now, but he didn't pull his hand away. “I… don't mind. It's fine, I just, uhhh, wanted to clarify since we're… y’know… learning about American culture. Yeah. But it's fine.”

“Good.” Marik settled back into the couch with a smug smile and gave Bakura's hand a squeeze. He felt the whorls of Bakura's thumb starting to trace his hand, and it was nice, really nice. He settled a little closer to his warm friend on the couch and settled in for a long night of whatever nerdy shit Bakura had picked out this time.

 

* * *

 

After the long weekend passed, Marik was bored out of his mind in English, waiting for the professor to finally grace the room with his presence. It had been fifteen minutes, and the man still hadn't arrived. A general hubbub filled the classroom as students complained and gossiped and chatted. Marik ignored them all, messaging Odion instead on Whatsapp. His brother wasn't exactly the most gripping conversationalist, but Bakura wasn't responding and nothing new was on Twitter. Besides, he was kind of curious as to how the mountain of a man was getting along in Japan, and he should be awake by now.

He was waiting for the little ellipsis icon to inform him that Odion was typing a response when an email notification popped up at the top of the screen. The email turned out to be from the professor, whose car had apparently broken down in the middle of the highway. Marik let out an annoyed sigh, then shoved his pen and notebook back into his messenger bag as the rest of the students started exclaiming about the email.

Having no more classes for the rest of the day, Marik headed back towards the apartment, ready to work on stuff he had due later that week. As he unlocked his door to enter, he heard the faint strumming of a guitar. Opening the door only made the sounds louder, the guitar's thrums joined by a man's voice, singing what seemed to be a ballad, though Marik didn't understand the words.

It sounded like Spanish though, and Marik grinned. Was Bakura listening to sappy ballads while he was away? The mental image of Bakura wiping away tears of emotion made Marik snicker, and he shut the door quietly. Knowing that Bakura had ridiculously good hearing, he tiptoed his way down the hall to Bakura's room.

The music grew louder as he approached, confirming his suspicions. Once he reached the door, he slowly, ever-so-slowly turned the doorknob. The music continued. Marik took in a breath, then barged in through the door.

He caught Bakura crouching on a chair with a guitar held over his head like a baseball bat, yelling, " _NO JODAS_!" at the top of his lungs. Marik leapt backwards into the hall with a yelp as the guitar swung down towards his head.

" _MARIK! CASI ME CAGUÉ, MALDITO ÁRABE, JURO QUE TE MATO!_ "

"Fuck! Sorry! Shit- sorry!" Marik stayed well away from the bedroom door, ready to bolt if Bakura charged out from the room. When he just heard malcontent grumbling, Marik slowly inched back into the room.

Bakura had gotten down from the chair and was now muttering quietly what was probably an impressive collection of insults under his breath. He was placing the guitar into a hard-shell case and Marik realized that he no longer heard the music that had been resonating throughout the apartment.

"Wait, Bakura... That was _you_ playing? And _singing_?"

He bristled, hands pausing. "...What of it?"

Marik hesitated. "Well," he started. Bakura started strapping in the guitar, and Marik hurriedly continued, "You sounded really good actually...!"

The Mexican acknowledged his compliment with a neutral grunt. Marik frowned as he watched Bakura close up the case.

"You didn't have to stop just because I'm here. You could keep practicing, I don't mind!"

A slight turn of Bakura’s head and steel grey eyes shifted to meet his. "Marik, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack just now, I’m not exactly in the right mindset to croon out ballads-” his own eyes widened at the admission, and he quickly looked back at the guitar case, fiddling with the latches. “Or play any kind of music,” he appended lamely.

Marik’s grin threatened to split his face. “Oh, so you _were_ singing a ballad, hmm?” He sidled towards Bakura, twirling some of his golden hair around his forefinger.

Bakura’s glance darted towards him and then away, almost nervously, then he busied himself by moving his chair away from the center of the room and setting it in front of his desk again, thereby avoiding Marik's "casual" sidle. When he looked back, Marik had the guitar back out of its case and cradled in his arms.

Bakura scowled. “Hey, hands off the guitar, _cabrón_!”

Marik only grinned. "I know what would get you back in the right mindset."

Bakura watched with mixed annoyance and apprehension as Marik backed out of the room, still holding his guitar. With a muttered curse, he followed.

Marik led him to the living room couch, where he sat, glancing meaningfully at Bakura then at the seat next to him. With a sigh, knowing that Marik wasn't going to give up whatever notion had taken up root in his brain, Bakura sat down next to him.

Marik grinned once Bakura obeyed the unspoken request, then slid the guitar onto the Mexican's lap.

"There you go. Now pretend that I'm a woman and play me a song, you giant loser." Marik helpfully pulled his hoodie over his head and batted his eyelashes playfully at Bakura.

Bakura flushed at the thought, and he had half a mind to correct Marik, but then Marik's terrible impersonation caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out why Marik had pulled up his hoodie, but then Bakura realized that he was probably imitating a hijabi woman.

He rolled his eyes and was about to get off the couch when Marik's eyes stopped blinking cutely and started looking thunderous. Realizing that he wasn't going to get away without either playing a stupid ballad or arguing about it for an hour, Bakura sighed again. As he slowly unlatched his guitar case, he tried to think of a song that would be the least embarrassing- it would definitely have to be something in Spanish so Marik wouldn't understand.

And then a stroke of genius- and Bakura's introspective frown curled up into a wide grin. Marik watched with interest as Bakura's fingers sped up, freeing the guitar from the case and setting the case aside, then quickly checking the tone of each string.

Once Bakura was satisfied that the guitar was still in tune, he actually scooted closer to Marik, a diabolical grin on his face as he leaned in so close that his breath warmed Marik's face. "What a wonderful idea, Marik. I'm going to dedicate this song to you, _mi amor, mi cielito_."

The Egyptian flushed uncomfortably under the scent of Bakura's cinnamon-scented breath, and he was greatly relieved when Bakura leaned away. The wild grin on his face was a little worrying (but also a little exciting).

Bakura started to play, fingers dancing over the strings, and Marik watched with fascination until Bakura looked up to him with a playful smile. Marik was hooked.

" _Hola Marikita_ ," he began, the breath catching in Marik's throat at the richness of his tone, " _Como te llamas?_ "

Marik swallowed hard as Bakura scooted a little closer, whispering near his ear as if it was a secret, " _Me llamo Bakura, me llamo Bakura- la dai di laila._ "

He moved back again, wide grin back on his face as he continued, " _Donde está el baño? Feliz cumpleaños._ "

Bakura leaned in close enough for Marik to catch another whiff of cinnamon spice, " _Qué hora es, qué hora es? La dai di laila._ "

He moved back again and Marik could breathe once more, " _Me gusta la biblioteca_ ," and Bakura's eyes smouldered as if confiding a secret, " _Vivo en la casa roja_."

A wink and Marik was sure that his cheeks were visibly reddening, " _Yo tengo dos bicicletas, muchas gracias y de nada!_ "

A moment of pause and Marik felt his heart pounding in his chest, " _Cuanto años tienes?_ " Bakura's grin faded into a soft smile, " _Un momento por favor_ ," and he shifted until he was leaning against Marik's side, whispering in his ear with a seductive rumble, " _Es la canción del primer semestre de Español._ "

Bakura drew back, his face returning to its previous devilish grin as he continued to regale Marik, staying in his own personal bubble so he could watch Marik's blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His winks and smiles were apparently too much for the Egyptian, who closed his eyes and visibly tried to calm himself.

Bakura's suppressed laughter was evident in his voice as he crooned out the last stanza, and then he finished his song with a flourish of notes of the guitar. Marik peeked at him and Bakura slid close again, looking up into Marik's eyes with a wicked grin.

"So, how was that? Did you fall in love, _mi tesoro?_ "

Marik looked away, a brighter red than before. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bakura,” he muttered, pushing his hood back off of his head and shaking his hair out.

Bakura only laughed at him, then put away his guitar on the case as Marik finger-groomed his hair back into an acceptable condition. Once the guitar was safely put away, Bakura set it aside and put his legs up on the coffee table, grabbing the remote. As he flipped through the channels, he felt Marik settle onto the couch to watch with him. Once Bakura set down the remote, a warm hand slipped into his own, and he smiled as he relaxed onto the couch, grinning up at Marik, whose cheeks were still dusted a soft pink. They watched the old reruns until the sun set, hands clasped between them.

Marik still insisted it wasn’t gay afterwards, but he didn’t sound quite as convinced this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the song Bakura sings is not my original song, I'll post a link to the video on the last chapter!


	8. Group Project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning for mentions of weapons and past child abuse)

On Tuesday morning, they decided to head out for Calculus a little earlier than usual to enjoy the autumn weather on foot. Marik took one step outside, then backed up into Bakura and shut the door, regret written all over his features. Bakura could only laugh as Marik stomped over to his bedroom to switch out his belly shirt for something warmer.

Bakura called after him, “ _Un cuerpo tan caliente, y te mueres con un poco de frío, mi rey?_ ”

Marik didn't understand the words, but he certainly understood the tone. He yelled back at his shitty roommate while digging in his closet. “Fuck off Bakura!! I grew up in a desert!”

“Doesn't it get cold in the desert at night? Colder than this?”

“It's not like I went frolicking through sand dunes at midnight, asshole! It's cold out!”

Bakura just laughed. “ _Cobarde!_ ” He had had the foresight to wear long-sleeves and long pants today, even though wearing so much clothing annoyed him.

Marik finally emerged from his room in a hoodie, and Bakura let him step outside first before locking the apartment door behind them.

“Seriously, Marik? Gloves?”

After flipping his warmly-dressed middle finger at Bakura, Marik said, “I can't be catching a cold today, I have an exam on Friday.”

Bakura only rolled his eyes.

Once Bakura had started for the sidewalk, Marik followed, slipping his gloved hand in Bakura's. Bakura looked down at Marik's hand in surprise, then shook his own hand free.

“ _¡No mames, Marikita!_ Don't you remember that holding hands is gay here?!” His eyes darted around nervously, looking for possible witnesses, and he relaxed only when he determined that there weren't any.

Unamused by Bakura's overreaction, Marik reluctantly shoved his gloved hands in his hoodie's kangaroo pouch. Lagging behind Bakura sulkily, he asked, “Why does it even matter? It's not illegal, is it?”

“Wellll, it _isn't_ …”

Marik's huff of breath was more than enough to express exactly how unimpressed he was with Bakura's excuses. Bakura hesitated for a minute, then he slowed down to match Marik's pace, nudging at him with his shoulder. “Something being illegal won't necessarily stop me, but I don't go looking for trouble, especially not if it could end up hurting you.”

Marik nudged back sulkily, but accepted this excuse.

Once they arrived at Calculus, Bakura insisted on entering the row of seats after Marik, who only scowled at Bakura being a pain once again. He was soon mollified when he realized that sitting this way let them hold hands the entire lecture while still being able to take notes (once they had secured their notebooks’ positions by weighing them down).

Marik was glad, for the first time, that this was a fairly dark auditorium course because Bakura’s hand was warm and slightly rough and it was so nice to hold. And the way Bakura seemed to lose his train of thought whenever Marik slid his thumb oh-so-lightly over his skin gave him life.

When class was over it was almost disappointing, though judging by the quality of their notes (crap) they probably should have paid more attention to the actual lecture. ...Whoops.

 

* * *

 

Every night before bed, Marik took off his jewelry and set everything carefully on his nightstand. It was a ritual he'd performed thousands of times, but tonight, his fingers slipped and one of his golden earrings dropped to the floor, evaded Marik's grasping hands, and bounced off the floor, rolling under his bed.

With a muttered curse, Marik knelt to retrieve it when he was faced with the wall of darkness under his bed. He leapt back up, then grabbed his flashlight from where it stood guard beside his gold. He knelt again, flicking on the flashlight to illuminate the darkness.

The darkness was unchanged.

A louder curse, with an edge of panic. The battery was dead? What if the power had gone out? He rushed over to his drawer, and groaned when he realized that he was fresh out of AA batteries. There was no way he was going to leave the apartment at 11pm if Odion wasn't there to watch his back.

He had resigned himself to waiting until morning for his earring retrieval when he realized that he could just ask his flatmate. Bakura always had electronic widgets on him, at least one of them had to use AA batteries.

Halfway out of his bedroom door, he remembered that he was still wearing one of his earrings, so he backtracked, took off the rest of his jewelry, then re-exited his bedroom. The hallway was dark, the light spilling from his bedroom not illuminating much of it. The soft drone of the air conditioner faded as blood started pounding in his ears. Marik focused on the sliver of light at the end of the hall, and strode towards it (quickly, but not running, even though his stomach started to twist in knots).

It was an enormous relief to throw open Bakura's door and break up the darkne- Bakura was standing on his bed, brandishing a knife and an aloe vera leaf?

“ _No mames, Marikita!! En serio, no pudiste esperar hasta mañana para joderme?!_ ”

Much too accustomed to Bakura’s overreactions every time he was startled, Marik rolled his eyes. “Bakura, start talking English again, and stop standing on the bed, you look ridiculous.”

Realizing that he had been holding a spiky leaf as if it had been another knife, Bakura slunk back down onto the bed, embarrassment written all over his face. “Well, fuck you for scaring the shit out of me. You seriously couldn’t at least knock like a normal person?”

“Okay, to be fair, that was my bad, but- wait, what the fuck are you doing with a knife and a leaf in bed?”

Bakura only scowled and turned away as he kept peeling the leaf with the knife, revealing the gel underneath. “I’m putting the aloe on my scars, asshole. That’s what I had told you I got the damn plants for.”

Even though he had seen them hundreds of times due to Bakura’s irrational hatred of shirts, Marik couldn’t look away from the scars scattered between Bakura’s shoulders and slicing down his back like some sort of sadistic confetti. There was such a variety of color, depth, length, and direction that it was clear Bakura had been accumulating them since childhood, though there were way too many scars there for such a comparatively short life.

A ripple of muscle under the scars and then Bakura’s hand was blocking some of Marik’s view, rubbing a slice of aloe gel onto one of the deeper gashes. Marik couldn’t help but stare as Bakura contorted himself to reach the small of his back.

Without looking up, Bakura asked, “Yeah, so what exactly did you want? You didn’t almost scare the shit out of me for no reason, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Do you have any AA batteries? I ran out of- Bakura, that can’t be comfortable, why don’t you just drop the knife and use your other- No, just stop, stop. Stop wiggling around like an idiot and give me the slime.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow, but un-pretzeled himself and sliced another bit of gel from the aloe vera leaf, dropping it onto Marik’s outstretched hand. Marik moved to perch on the bed behind Bakura, idly pressing the gel between his fingers. He watched the scars and muscles on Bakura’s back shift as his flatmate leaned forward, then pressed the gel against Bakura’s back.

It was a little tricky, but soon Marik figured out how to get the slime on Bakura’s back effectively without dropping it. Bakura silently handed him fresh slices of aloe whenever it became difficult for Marik to squeeze any more slime out of it, and Marik muttered his thanks. Once Marik had covered all of Bakura’s back with the stuff, Bakura started moving to get up, only stopped by Marik placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Wait.”

“What?” Bakura sat back down again. “ _Que quieres? Seguirme tocando? Bueno, realmente no me opondría._ ”

Marik rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to talk back to me in Spanish like an asshole, then I’ll change my mind.”

His hands belied his words, palms pressing into Bakura’s back and gliding slowly down his slicked-up skin. Something like a sigh escaped Bakura and he slumped forwards comfortably as Marik started to massage the aloe into his skin. The knife and leaf were soon dropped a safe distance away in favor of resting his hands on the bed so he could shift along with Marik’s movements, arching into the pressure of Marik’s hands.

Marik was fascinated by the little dips and valleys of Bakura’s scars slipping under his fingers, and entranced by the way Bakura’s muscles moved under his hands to accommodate him. Quiet little hums and soft sighs told Marik that his impromptu massage was highly appreciated, and Marik couldn't help but smile as he experimented with his strokes. Bakura really seemed to like it when Marik pressed his thumbs firmly down his spine, so Marik made sure to indulge him, relishing Bakura's little shivers and muffled Spanish.

Soon Marik's arm muscles began to protest, so Marik slowed to a stop, smoothing his hands over Bakura's dark warm skin one last time. Bakura sighed, and Marik chuckled softly at him, patting his shoulder affectionately as he stood up to go.

Bakura lifted his head, and then his hand shot out to grab Marik's, tugging him back.

“Bakura, what-”

“It's your turn.”

Marik flushed. “What do you mean, ‘my turn’?”

Bakura pulled him close and sat him back down on the bed.

“It's your turn to get aloe vera on your back.”

Flustered, Marik pushed Bakura's hands away. “M-my back? What makes you think I have scars on my _back_?”

Bakura stopped trying to turn him around in favor of looking into his eyes, his silver eyebrows arching up high in amusement.

“The way you knew exactly how uncomfortable it was to put something on your back. Now turn around so I can put aloe-”

“ _No!_ ” Marik clapped his hand over his own mouth as Bakura jerked back in shock.

Marik scrambled to explain. “Sorry Bakura, I didn't mean to yell, I just- my scars aren't- they aren't like yours, I don't want anyone to see them, I just-”

Bakura leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Marik's. Marik hadn't realized how tight his throat had suddenly felt until he swallowed, and Bakura's hands rested lightly on his hips.

“Everyone's scars are different. It's okay. If it hurts to touch, then I won't.”

Bakura's breath ghosted onto Marik's face since they were so close, faint cinnamon and something else. He felt a little calmer as he focused on the speckled grey of Bakura's eyes.

“They don't...hurt to touch, but- I just- I don't really feel comfortable taking off my shirt or anyone seeing them, so…”

“Hmmm… that's okay, but I think there's something I want to try…? Let me know if you want me to- if you want me to stop. Okay?”

He had no idea what Bakura had in mind, but he bumped Bakura's forehead lightly with his own in agreement, prompting a smile from him and an affectionate caress on his sides. Marik shut his eyes as he felt Bakura's fingers trail from his hips around to his back, slipping slowly under his shirt and starting to knead at his skin, well under his scars.

It was good, way too good, and Marik moved closer to Bakura's chest, separating their faces in favor of resting his chin on Bakura's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Bakura to keep him close. Bakura's hands paused briefly and he hugged Marik back, warm and strong and good and Marik felt all the tension leaving his body.

Bakura hid his face against Marik's neck as he started to knead again, slowly starting to travel up Marik's back. When he reached the scars and Bakura didn't flinch or scream, Marik let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nestled a little closer to Bakura's warm, solid chest and comforting heartbeat.

It was really good, really really good- Bakura's soft breaths against his neck and his slightly-rough fingers digging into his skin, the smell of sleep and aloe, blissfully warm and calm and safe.

When Bakura stopped stroking his back, Marik was content to stay where he was, moving his legs and shifting to straddle Bakura better and indicate that he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't sure what his gameplan was really- he hadn't planned to stay the night and probably shouldn't?

Luckily, Bakura only chuckled against his neck, and then Marik felt coolness spread slowly against his lower back. He relaxed again as Bakura started applying the aloe, pausing occasionally to slice up more gel behind Marik's back. Really, Marik should have been alarmed by the thought of Bakura with a knife near his back, but this situation was so radically different and felt so much more comfortable that Marik didn't mind.

Soon Marik's back was feeling pleasantly cool and mildly numb, any latent itches banished as Bakura massaged the cool gel deep into his skin and scars. Marik could only sigh happily against Bakura's neck and couldn't resist placing a soft kiss onto the crook of his shoulder. Bakura shivered in delight and Marik smiled, indulging him again with little kisses onto his shoulder, smiling as Bakura sighed and his strokes became dreamier.

After Marik returned to just resting against Bakura, enjoying the experience, he felt the soft rumble of Bakura's chest as he started to speak.

“Marik…. _Tesoro_ …. Who did this to you?”

He sighed, too relaxed to get really upset, especially when he felt Bakura's concern in his words. He should have known the thief wouldn't need to see the scars to tell they were definitely man-made, and deliberate.

Bakura didn't press the question, still caressing Marik's back, but he answered anyway.

“Well… I, umm, didn't really have a normal childhood, as I'm sure you've guessed.”

Bakura nuzzled Marik's shirt aside a little bit and graced his lips against Marik's shoulder. Marik thanked him for the encouragement with an affectionate squeeze.

“My father was… unusual. He had strange ideas, and sudden bursts of energy where he'd follow them. Mom died…. when I was born, and I'm sure that didn't help.”

“Not your fault,” Bakura interjected against his throat.

Marik smiled.

“You're right. Thank you.” He kissed Bakura's neck and grinned a little wider when he sighed and relaxed a bit.

“But anyways, my father was convinced, _extremely_ convinced, that tourists were actually foreign invaders trying to take over Egypt. Yeah, it's weird as hell, I have no idea how he came to that conclusion, but… he started buying tons of guns to ‘defend the Pharaoh's land’, never mind that the pharaohs had been dead for quite a while.”

Bakura must have noticed that Marik was getting a little upset, because he kissed his shoulder and kneaded more gently.

“You don't have to talk about it, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No, it's okay. I think it'll be good for me to talk about it? If you don't mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Thank you, Bakura.” Marik took a little break to cover Bakura's throat with soft kisses while he gathered his thoughts, smiling at his soft hums of pleasure.

“I have a brother, and a sister. Well, my brother's adopted, but honestly I feel closer to him than I do to my sister. And Father was never kind to my brother, but he usually wasn't too bad around Sister and me… But he had really weird delusions, of blood and bugs and danger and…”

Bakura hugged Marik tightly, squeezing him close before loosening his grip and caressing Marik's back, rubbing soothing circles into his skin and pressing soft, deliberate kisses onto Marik's neck.

It made the memories a little easier to bear.

“I was ten when he had a really bad episode and… did this. My siblings patched me up because we couldn't call an ambulance, Father would shoot them. But after that he was much tired more often, and he got… old very quickly. It was strange. I never understood how someone in his forties could look so old already?”

He hugged Bakura a little closer, tracing absentminded patterns on his back with his fingers.

“Then I came home one day and… he was hurting my brother, hurting him really badly and- and- I don't know what happened next, I just woke up and Father was under a sheet and Sister was telling me that Father had exhausted himself and my brother was alright, but an ambulance came and took Father away and then… it was just me and my siblings, and the tons and tons of guns Father had left behind.”

Marik shrugged. “What were we going to do with so many guns? Antique ones, modern ones, illegal ones… We started selling.”

A sudden drop of water against his neck, and Marik realized that Bakura was the culprit, breathing irregular against his neck. Marik pulled away to get a good look at him, and there were tear-trails down his face. Bakura's face crumpled when their eyes met, and he hid against Marik's pyjama shirt.

“His own family, how could he-?!”

Marik heard the rage and sadness in Bakura's tone and he knew Bakura was almost as angry at his father as he was angry that there was nothing that could have been done to save Marik from the pain. Marik kissed the top of Bakura's head, feeling a lot better himself without the weight of such a terrible secret on top of him. He smiled when he felt Bakura calming down as well.

“Marik,” Bakura murmured against his shoulder, and Marik kissed his head again to show that he was listening. “Stay here. Here in bed, I mean. For the night.”

Marik's smile widened. “Yes, of course! ...Thank you Bakura.”

He brushed Bakura's silvery hair over his ear so he could kiss his cheek. Bakura looked at Marik out of the corner of his eye and his cheek shifted as he smiled.

Then Marik flushed. “Do you mind it if I… left a little light on? While we sleep, I mean.”

Bakura turned his face up towards Marik's. “If you wanted to, then I wouldn't care.”

Marik thanked him by pressing soft kisses onto his forehead, and onto his broad, round nose and along the scar that sliced down his cheek, enjoying how Bakura's eyes slipped shut and his nose scrunched and his cheeks dimpled.

It was hard pulling away from his warm, cuddly friend and getting off the bed to finish changing into pajamas, but Marik eventually managed it. He probably broke a speed record for outfit changing, because the apartment was way too cold when compared with Bakura's embrace. After grabbing his nightlight, he hurried back to Bakura's bedroom, smiling when he saw Bakura looking up at him from where he was buried under his covers, with plenty of space on the bed and pillow for Marik.

There was a slight flush on Bakura's cheeks, and Marik took a moment to admire it before plugging in the small lamp and turning off the lights. Bakura's massive computer setup also provided a few lazily blinking stars to keep the room from darkness, and Marik smiled. He climbed into bed with Bakura, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close.

Marik had meant to kiss his cute nose goodnight, but Bakura's face jerked upwards a little in surprise and Marik accidentally ended up kissing his mouth.

It felt right, especially when Bakura relaxed and kissed back. 

 

* * *

 

Waking up on Wednesday morning was easy. Even though Bakura’s room was still dark (and how was that, when Marik’s room lit up so brightly every morning?), Marik was used to waking up at the same hour. It was totally worth it when he realized that it gave him free reign to kiss and cuddle Bakura. He had never really appreciated how much smaller the thief was until he tried spooning him and Bakura fit neatly under his chin.

Getting up on Wednesday morning was hard. Bakura retaliated with sleepy murmurs and nuzzles, his arms wrapped comfortably around Marik’s waist. It was only when their stomachs rumbled that they stumbled out to the bathroom to brush their teeth, but then Bakura proposed breakfast in bed and that was too tempting an idea.

Marik barely made it to his 1 pm Physics class, especially after he finally remembered the earring still under his bed and he had to use his iPhone’s flash to help dig it out. Honestly, it was a miracle Marik was able to make it at all. (He was glad he didn’t have to explain an absence to his professor though- he was sure the man would be much less impressed by the idea of skipping class in favor of cuddling and breakfast in bed.)


	9. Peer Review

When his next Physics lecture was cancelled an hour before the lecture because the professor’s wife was giving birth, Marik groaned. He had woken himself up at 3 a.m. to finish the damn problem set due in class- if he had known he would have an extra two days, then he wouldn’t have had to fuck up his sleep schedule like that.

It was a good thing that Marik compulsively checked his notifications once he was mounted on his bike but hadn’t turned on the engine yet. Otherwise he would have been fighting lunchtime traffic to get to class and find a parking space, only to realize that he had wasted his time and that he’d have to fight his way back home.

He dismounted, grabbed his bookbag and returned to the apartment, dropping his things onto a dining room chair so he wouldn’t forget them when he headed out for English at 4:30. A glance at his cell phone told him that he had a good four hours to try to recover from his homework, so Marik went to his bedroom to change into a pair of pyjamas for a nap. He had evaded most of the group report work for English, so he had time to spare now that Physics-

The distinctive sound of a rubber duck hitting a wall with a pathetic wheeze told Marik that Bakura was coding. Muffled Spanish curses confirmed that it probably wasn’t going well.

Marik finished changing into pyjamas and knocked on Bakura’s bedroom door before entering to avoid getting anything thrown at his head. He scowled at his computer screens for a moment before turning towards Marik and tucking one of his headphones behind his ear.

“Back already?”

“Yeah. Physics got cancelled.”

Marik walked over to Bakura’s chair to hug him, though he paused when he noticed that Bakura was crouched awkwardly, like a gargoyle, on the seat of his fancy ergonomic computer chair instead of sitting in it like a normal person.

“Bakura, you’re ridiculous.”

He laughed at Bakura’s middle finger as he wrapped him in a warm hug anyways, grinning as he felt him relax a little bit in his arms and reciprocate the hug.

“Yeah, _te amo también, cabeza de huevo_.”

Marik rolled his eyes and let go of Bakura, draping his arm onto the back of the chair instead so he could look at the code on the screen.

“Whatever, nerd. Just tell me what’s gotten you mad enough to commit animal abuse this time. That’s… C++, right?”

Bakura looked a little put out that the hug was over already, though he did sit down properly afterwards.

“Yeah, it’s C++. But you’re in PJs, just grab me the duck and go take your nap. I know you were up late last night.”

“Nah, you should get the duck yourself, then maybe you’ll learn to stop throwing it around and scaring people, asshole.”

Bakura grumbled, but then he actually got up to look for the duck, and Marik slid into his chair to get a better look. He grinned at Bakura’s muttered cursing when he stubbed his toe, settling in deeper into the incredibly comfortable chair.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be having so much trouble if you actually commented out your code, dumbass. I bet that’s why the TA keeps docking points off your assignments even though they’re supposedly perfect every time.”

“Fuck. You’re probably right. Now get out of my chair, I’m going to have to comment all of this shit because I hate myself apparently, and have to show off by writing much fancier codes than what I was supposed to do. Kick my ass next time I spend more than fifteen minutes on these stupid fucking assignments.”

“Well, I’m too comfortable to move now, so I guess you’ll just have to sit with me while you fix your mess.”

Bakura looked down at Marik’s smirk and shifted uncertainly until Marik tugged him closer, then he perched on Marik’s knee. With a snicker of amusement, Marik wrapped his arms around Bakura’s waist and pulled him in for a good spooning, ignoring Bakura’s half-hearted protests. His reward was feeling the tension slowly pour out of Bakura as he relaxed against Marik’s chest. Marik thanked Bakura with little kisses onto his head and neck and bare shoulders, because of course the little savage still had his personal vendetta against shirts.

Bakura melted at the attention, soft sighs of delight escaping him as he caressed Marik’s hands and forearms and tilted his head back onto Marik’s shoulder so Marik’s lips could have free reign of his throat and shoulder. Marik indulged him, grinning at Bakura’s little shivers of pleasure until Bakura lifted his head, half-turned in Marik’s lap, and kissed his mouth. It was wonderful- Bakura’s arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed their lips together, soft and sweet and so, so good.

“Mmm… Marik,” whispered Bakura against Marik’s lips, “you are the worst at helping me code. A fake duck was doing a better job.”

Marik just grinned.

“Oh yeah? Well, I bet now that you’re nice and relaxed that you’ll find that bug in no time. Plus, if you didn’t like those kisses, you can always return them.”

“...You smooth motherfucker. ...I might exchange them after I’m done here.”

The way Bakura looked away shyly for a moment when talking about exchanging kisses was too damn cute, so Marik gave him another kiss.

“On the house”, he said before Bakura sighed and turned back around, tugging them both closer to the keyboard. Marik curled up around Bakura’s back, the sound of keyboard tapping soon lulling him into a light doze-

“ _Coño!!_ It was the damn copy constructor on the inherited class, _carajo_!”

Marik’s lips curled into a smile, and he pressed a soft kiss onto Bakura’s shoulder.

“Told you.”

 

* * *

 

It was the _clink clink_ of metal jostled against metal that drew Bakura, curious, to Marik's room one Saturday evening. The door was slightly ajar, so Bakura nudged it open a little further so he could see.

Piles of gold shone on top of the bed, mixed with flashes of silver and gemstones. A jewellery collection to rival a pawn shop, and Marik sat right in the middle of it, sorting it all.

Bakura could only stare.

Why- the earring pile alone must be worth enough to- pay way more than a year's rent, holy shit, more like 5 years right in the middle of fucking Mexico City, probably a year's worth even here in the States. Tricky to just grab by hand without dropping any of them and breaking up the pairs, but with a bag he could just sweep them up on his way past- And that bracelet pile... probably weighed about 1.5 kilos, about fifty thousand fucking dollars? Plus the workmanship, he would probably swing an extra, what? Twenty percent? Sixty thousand dollars… that would fit easily in a small bookbag, the clinking muffled with clothing. The necklaces were stacked on top of each other neatly enough that he could grab it sprinting, and with the gems on those, he could probably net 40k, easy, and cache them in the maintenance closet. And if all of those silver accents were actually white gold-

“Oh, hey Bakura. You're back already? Did you find the hummus brand I liked?”

“What? Hummus is nasty, I didn't- Oh wait. Yeah. Yeah, I did find the hummus. I put it in the fridge.”

Marik rolled his eyes at him, but said “Thanks", and held out his arms. Golden chains slid down from his hands to his elbows as he motioned for a hug, and the thinnest chains glimmered and the larger chains chimed, and Bakura drew closer and closer, reaching out-

And realized that he was meant to _hug_ Marik and not rob him blind, so he focused on Marik's face, whose lips were twisted upwards in amusement. He wrapped his arms around him, closing his eyes and hiding his face against Marik's neck so the jewelry couldn't tempt and distract him.

Marik pulled him in closer, tugging him onto his lap and putting Bakura's knees at either side of his waist so he could place kisses onto his hair and ear and neck and shoulder. As always, Marik's hold drained the tension out of Bakura. He pressed a kiss there, in the crook of Marik's neck, and slid his hands up Marik's shirt to caress his back, smiling at Marik's peaceful sigh.

“Mmm, thanks Bakura…”

Marik's arms pulled away from Bakura's waist, and he heard gold cascade onto the bed and into itself. His eyes shot open, and he couldn't help but turn his head to see what- Marik had dropped the chains onto his bed and was hugging him again, and- it was really stupid, but it was taking all of his willpower to not snatch a handful of jewelry and run.

“That's..a lot of jewelry, Marik.”

“This? Yeah, you caught me organizing my stash, haha. I had just thrown everything together before flying here.”

Bakura could only watch, entranced, as Marik scooped up a handful of rings and let them pour back down into a pile, clinking and glittering with gems.

”I don't really wear any of this, but my siblings didn't want any of these so they ended up here with me.”

Bakura blinked.

“Wait, where the hell did you hide all of this?! I went through the entire apartment that first day, and I _certainly_ didn't see any of _this_. Only the pieces that you wear daily.”

Marik grinned, beyond smug.

“You didn't check the kitchen well enough, I guess. But then again, no one really does.”

“The _kitchen?_ ...damn. That's a good one.”

Marik stole a quick kiss, laughing softly.

“Definitely one of the few things my father had right.”

Bakura couldn't help but sulk a little bit at having _so much gold_ hidden _right under his nose_. Marik's kisses did make up for it though, especially when Bakura considered that if he had found the gold when he had first broken in, he wouldn't have stayed around to meet Marik. And he knew it was cheesy and lame as hell to think of, but he really did prefer Marik's company to that of the pile of gold, even if every instinct in his body screamed to grab it all and run.

His heart almost failed him when he considered saying that out loud though, so he settled for pressing kisses along Marik's jaw and wrapping his arms securely around Marik's waist, well below his scars. Marik grinned and turned his head, catching Bakura's lips with his own and cradling his face with a hand, caressing the scar under Bakura's eye with his thumb.

They kissed, slow and sweet, and when Bakura's lips slipped open in a plea, Marik answered, licking his way into Bakura's mouth and stealing his breath away. Bakura moved then, arms moving to settle onto Marik's shoulders as one of his hands traced up the nape of Marik's neck into his hair, holding him close because Bakura needed _more_. Every brush of Marik's tongue against his electrified him and each of his muffled moans encouraged Marik to hold him a little more tightly and kiss him a little deeper.

It was instinct, pure instinct, that made Bakura lean back and pull Marik down with him. The sharp corners of the cool metal against his bare back reminded Bakura of the gold he had somehow forgotten, and the clinking broke them both out of their daze.

Marik lifted himself onto his forearms, and Bakura was struck by how gorgeous Marik was- all bronze skin and gold hair with those striking lavender eyes half-hooded, and those soft lips dusky red from kisses and curled into a lopsided grin.

“Hmmmm… Bakura, I think gold suits you.”

A chain slid across Bakura's chest, pulled by Marik's fingertip, and the combination of Marik's light touch and the trail of cold left by the metal made Bakura shiver. Marik hovered over him, watching Bakura with a mixture of amusement and hunger that made Bakura acutely aware of how closely their lower halves were pressed together.

Marik lowered his head to kiss him, and Bakura kissed back fiercely, the excitement of Marik's heat, the bed, the gold, all swirled together in a fever-pitch of excitement.

Then Marik sat up, and pulled Bakura up into a sitting position as well. Bakura's lips burned for want of more kisses, and his skin was in dire need of Marik's touch, so when Marik caressed his chest, Bakura moaned and leaned closer. Marik's hands moved away, and Bakura watched as Marik surveyed the gold beside them.

Marik chose a collar shaped like a vulture with widespread wings, feathers inlaid with what must have been turquoise and lapis lazuli, and slipped it around Bakura's neck. The weight and chill of the metal contrasted oddly with Marik's warm touch. A soft kiss followed, and Bakura felt himself relax, thoughts swirling a little more slowly as he focused on the feeling of Marik's lips on his and the breath they shared.

Then Marik picked up Bakura's wrist, fingers warm and gentle, and his lips brushed against the sensitive skin, drawing a sigh from Bakura. An ornate bracelet patterned with colorful stones was slipped onto his wrist, and Marik kissed his mouth again, softly, sweetly.

An armlet shaped like a coiled snake followed, then Marik fitted another armlet and bracelet onto his opposite arm. He covered Bakura's fingers with rings, kissing each fingertip and the backs and palms of his hands. Several chains were lifted over Bakura's head and draped over his chest. Marik swept Bakura's grey hair to the side to press a kiss onto his forehead with a smile. He placed a circlet on Bakura's head, and then sat back to admire his handiwork.

Bakura felt like a fool. He was wearing a fortune's worth of antique jewelry along with boxers and shorts from Wal-Mart.

Marik didn't seem to mind.

If Bakura trembled a little bit then, it was only because Marik's gaze was full of naked awe and admiration. He didn't know what to do.

“Bakura… You're gorgeous.”

He had a hard time believing it until Marik leaned in to kiss him with a passion that set fire to Bakura's belly. They broke away for air only when their lungs forced them to, and panted for breath with their lips only an inch apart. Marik grinned, and he drew more gold from the pile around them, slipping more bracelets into Bakura's arm. Before Bakura could marvel at his gold-covered arms, Marik was kissing him again, and slipping more jewelry onto his limbs between breaths.

Then Marik's hands moved to caress his shoulders, and he thumbed one of Bakura's nipples, toying with it and making it even stiffer as Bakura tried not to squirm. He was mostly successful until Marik lowered his head and started nibbling at his neck, then he arched against Marik with a moan, shuddering in delight.

He was very, very glad that the collar left most of his neck bare, because Marik's lips and teeth against his throat were heaven.

He tilted his head to give Marik as much room as possible, locking his legs around Marik's waist to keep them pressed close together. Bakura felt Marik's growing erection bump against his, and gasped, rocking against him with a thrill of excitement.

“ _Dios mío! Ay, si, Marik!! Tócame, bésame, muérdeme!_ ”

And Marik gasped back, then paused. Bakura gave him a little time while he caught his breath, then lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Marik's and looking at his flushed face and eyes that wouldn't meet his.

“I've never done this before,” said Marik, still looking somewhere beyond Bakura's left elbow.

“Me neither.”

And it was strange to think about- about Marik and him, touching and kissing and pressing together- a mix of stomach-flipping nerves and a heated rush of excitement.

But Marik still hesitated, so Bakura moved his legs from Marik's waist, settling on his haunches instead. Marik's head snapped up, and their eyes locked together. Bakura saw surprise and confusion in the depths of Marik's lavender eyes, and he couldn't help but press a kiss onto his forehead, then another under his eye.

Marik stifled a bright laugh, leaning into Bakura and bumping their noses together affectionately. Bakura felt himself relax as well, and he smiled, nuzzling back and pressing little kisses onto Marik's face, delighting in his soft laughter.

Bakura rested his forehead against Marik's again.

“Hey… How about we take a break? For now?”

They were both still uncomfortably aroused, but Marik seemed relieved at the suggestion. He kissed Bakura, then smiled in a way that made Bakura's heart thump way too fast.

“Thanks, Bakura. …Can we reconvene on the couch in a little while? Maybe try to beat that last gym again?”

“Mm… Sounds perfect.”

He nuzzled at Marik one more time, then sat back, remembering the gold when it clinked. Bakura stared at the bracelets and rings on his arms and hands, then started taking them off. Marik's hand settled on his and stopped him.

“You can leave the jewelry on for a while longer. You look good in it, like a king.”

Bakura sincerely hoped his skin was too dark to show his blush, because his cheeks were on fire and he was having trouble looking Marik in the eyes.

“...thank you.”

Marik surprised him with a kiss then, and Bakura could only cling to Marik's shoulders and moan against Marik's lips as he stole his breath away. Then Marik was sitting back with a grin, and Bakura dazedly collected his thoughts for a few moments before he could pull away and stand up.

It was a little awkward to walk, but Bakura managed it, turning at Marik's doorway to see that Marik had pushed some of his gold collection aside to lay back on his bed, and he smiled at Bakura with hooded eyes and his hand settled low on his belly.

Bakura fled to his room, thoughts reverberating with the image of Marik on his bed, surrounded by gold and thinking of him.

It didn't take him long to finish the job after that.

 

* * *

 

It took a few minutes for Marik to catch his breath, and a few more to clean up. He surveyed the jewelry he had left to organize, and shrugged. He'd put what he had already organized in separate, smaller bags, and finish organizing the remaining pile another day. ...Perhaps with Bakura's help.

He felt himself flush at the idea, and shook his head to get the thought out. He slipped into a pair of more comfortable pyjamas, looking forward to settling with Bakura on the couch. It had quickly become his favorite way to unwind, watching movies “for his education" or playing games on Bakura's various electronics, nestled closely and trading the occasional soft kisses.

After he settled onto the couch, he heard Bakura's jewelry clinking quietly as he approached. Marik grinned and patted the seat next to him, pulling Bakura against his side right away.

“Maybe you should wear gold more often, Bakura. It suits you. And when you have it on, I can hear you coming, haha.”

Bakura's eyes widened reflexively and his bark brown skin became distinctly cherry-red.

“You… you could hear me coming?” echoed Bakura faintly, and Marik was suddenly worried that he had offended him somehow, until he remembered-

“Oh- Ohh… Umm… Well, I didn't mean it _that_ way…”

Bakura hid his face against Marik's chest. Marik couldn't help but chuckle a little bit and hold him close, pressing a kiss onto his head. The way Bakura relaxed against him was always a gift, and Marik thanked him with another little kiss onto his head. Bakura responded with an affectionate nuzzle, then he peeked up at Marik's face, storm-grey eyes amused.

“Marik, if I walked anywhere wearing this much gold, I would be arrested on the spot.”

Marik laughed at the thought of Bakura trying to sneak stuff out of Wal-Mart wearing only shorts and gold.

Marik snickered, “Yeah, these are pretty flashy.” Then he took one of Bakura's arms and started gently removing all of his bracelets and armlets and rings, piling them onto the living room table. He then took off one of his own plain golden wrist guards, and slipped it onto Bakura's wrist.

“How about just this? Better?”

Bakura's eyes widened, and he stared at the wrist guard, then at Marik, and back.

“Is this- is this for me?”

“Yes, of course. Now we match!”

Marik playful clinked their wrists together, and Bakura's cheeks had returned to their previous dark red.

“Marik- I don't know what to say. I… thank you.”

Marik kissed Bakura's cute broad nose and bumped their foreheads together.

“You can keep the rest of it too. You can wear it in here as much as you like.” He winked. “And next time I try to organize all of that junk, you can help me and pick out anything you like.”

“Marik, I can't accept all of this! Do you have any idea how much all of this is worth?! There's no way I could pay you back-”

Marik scoffed at the thought of Bakura paying him back for a _gift_ , and bumped his forehead against Bakura's, careful to not strike against the circlet still on his head.

“Consider this my payment for your expert help in the art of catching Pokémon.”

Bakura narrowed his eyes at him, but a few more kisses from Marik soon had him grumpily agreeing.

“ _Verdaderamente, me pudiera enfrentar a una armada entera por ti, mi rey._ ”

“Good. Now, are we going to take down Giovanni, or what?”

Bakura held up the calculator, and Marik pulled him onto his lap, spooning his cute and warm boyfriend comfortably on the couch. He rested his head on Bakura's shoulder after pressing a few kisses onto the crook of his neck to make him melt against Marik's body in the way that always made his heart sing. After tucking his arms under Bakura's and taking the calculator so they could both see the screen, he fired up the game while Bakura idly caressed Marik's ear and cheek and hair with one hand.

Marik sighed in delight. Living with Bakura was spoiling him rotten.


	10. Holiday Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story finally earns its rating. Warning: sex!

Make-out and cuddle sessions with Bakura always drove Marik a little wild. Bakura was just so expressive when touched, pressing himself into Marik's caresses, murmuring and gasping between kisses. He always flushed with pleasure and embarrassment when Marik sat back to admire him, his lips kiss-swollen, his silvery hair mussed and his hooded eyes full of desire. They ended up hard and wanting almost every time now, their limbs knotted together as they both tried to pretend they could keep touching a little longer without rocking their hips together to completion.

Bakura always pulled away then, with a little shiver that Marik knew was caused by the sudden lack of Marik’s body heat. They would bump noses, and kiss more gently, apart except for their lips, and then Bakura would rush to another room. There was no way Marik could last very long after that, knowing that Bakura was stroking himself and thinking of Marik doing the same.

Afterwards, they would meet on the couch, still a little high on post-orgasmic bliss, and nestle together. Bakura always smelled muskier then, and Marik would revel in it, nuzzling at Bakura’s neck and pressing the occasional soft kiss onto his jaw. Bakura would sigh, and knead dreamily at Marik’s back, or chest, or shoulders, and Marik would hold him close. It was sweet, it was sensual, it was so so good.

Marik wanted more.

He knew Bakura stopped because Marik had gotten uncomfortable the first time they had been so aroused, and he loved Bakura for it. But lately, his mind kept thinking about what-ifs, about what if Bakura didn’t leave, about what if Bakura kept pressing close, about what if they finished together rather than apart.

Marik had tried, a few times, to get Bakura to stay, but the words would die in his throat, and Bakura would flee, focused on putting a respectful distance between them before it became mission impossible to hold back.

Last time, Bakura had been on the kitchen counter with his legs wrapped around Marik’s waist and a hand in Marik’s hair holding his face close as they kissed, moaning in the most delicious way as Marik held his hips and pressed closer. Marik broke the kiss and opened his mouth to suggest that they continue in the bedroom, when, somehow, in a flurry of brown legs, Bakura scrambled out of Marik’s grasp and off the counter. In that moment, Marik had enough.

This time, he was prepared.

Marik lured Bakura into his bedroom with the promise of Independence Day: Resurgence on Blu-Ray on the new 75” 4K Ultra HD Smart TV mounted across from his bed. He piled up his fluffiest blankets, knowing that Bakura wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to cocoon them both together, and hoping the tangled sheets would slow down Bakura’s escape enough for Marik to stop him.

Marik amassed their pillows in front of the headboard so that he could lie back comfortably against them, and smiled when Bakura happily slid onto his lap and laid back onto his chest. He was wearing only shorts, as always, and Marik sighed appreciatively as he wrapped his arms around Bakura's compact, but toasty frame. Spooning like this was always a wonderful experience- their bodies pressed warmly together, and Marik with free reign to touch Bakura and kiss his sensitive neck, and hear each of his soft exclamations of bliss, unmuffled.

The blankets were warm and cozy enough to entice Marik to take things slower than usual, even though the thought of going further today already had him excited and he knew that Bakura could probably feel it. He took his time, wrapping his arms warmly around Bakura as Bakura set up the captions, nuzzling sweetly at his soft, silvery hair as the introduction started, and trailing slow, gentle kisses behind Bakura’s ear and down his neck.

Bakura melted against him, relaxing and resting his head on Marik’s shoulder, tugging the cloth cocoon around them a little tighter. He was focused on the movie, but his hands still caressed Marik’s arms affectionately. Marik took that as an invitation to gently trace his way up Bakura’s bare stomach and chest with his left hand under the blankets, exploring his skin and scars and muscle and belly without seeing. It felt more daring somehow, and the way Bakura arched slightly into his touch warmed Marik more than the blankets.

Spooning Bakura like this was luxuriously good, though it always seemed to drive Bakura a little mad that he couldn't return Marik's touches so easily from his position. It was probably mean to find it funny how Bakura fidgeted and tried to caress every part of Marik he _could_ reach, but Marik loved testing how long he could take it before he swiveled around and pulled him in for an almost-desperate kiss.

Marik did his best today to keep Bakura settled, keeping his kisses slow and sweet, and pausing between caresses. Bakura slowly lost interest in the movie as he started sighing and murmuring peacefully at each touch, tilting and shifting to accommodate Marik's movements like a flower turning to face the sun. His hands curled around Marik's right arm, stroking aimlessly. Marik smiled against Bakura's neck, murmuring a soft “بحبِك” into his skin.

A little shiver ran down Bakura's spine at the sound of his voice. That seemed to inspire Bakura to move, and he turned, shifting and adjusting the blankets until he was straddling Marik's lap and they were cocooned together again, chest to chest. They ended up nose to nose as well, and Marik was so captivated by Bakura's stormy grey eyes that he didn't notice Bakura's hands moving until they were gently cradling his cheeks. Marik tilted his head into Bakura's palm, and smiled when Bakura's face developed a rosy hue before he leaned in closer and kissed Marik.

Nothing else could fit in Marik's mind then except the sensation of soft lips against his, the bridges of Bakura's thumbs gently sweeping across his cheeks and the sight of similarly lovestruck eyes slipping open to meet his.

They drew apart to breathe, and Bakura's hands moved to curl into Marik's hair. Marik wrapped an arm securely around Bakura's waist before he followed suit, brushing Bakura's hair away from his face. The way Bakura smiled made Marik's heart swell, and when Bakura leaned in again to kiss him once more, Marik couldn't help but moan his approval. Hearing Marik made Bakura gasp against his lips, then Bakura kissed him more deeply, licking his way into Marik's mouth and muffling their soft exclamations as they tugged each other closer.

Their cocks pressed together then, and they each swallowed moans as they rocked closer- then Bakura started moving back and Marik tightened his grip.

“Marik,” he murmured, and the deepness of his voice startled Marik enough to loosen his grip. Bakura snuck another kiss then, sighing as he pulled away-

“Bakura, no! Don't- don't go.” Bakura looked at Marik's hand grabbing his arm, and then at Marik's face, grey eyes wide.

“Bakura, please,” and Marik felt his cheeks heat up, “please stay. We can just… you know. Do it… together?”

When Bakura froze and turned a darker red, Marik smiled and tugged Bakura closer. Bakura hesitated.

“Marik... are you sure? You don't have to do that- I don't want to make you uncomfortable-”

“No, of course not!” Bakura startled, and Marik hurriedly clarified, “No, I meant that of course I don't _have to_ do this, but I _want to_ do this!”

Bakura still looked unsure, and then Marik was stuck by an awful realization.

“Wait- do you, do _you_ not… want this? I mean, if you don't want to-”

Bakura almost knocked Marik onto his back when he leapt back into Marik’s lap, rushing to kiss away the uncertainty in his voice.

When they had to pause for breath, Bakura rested his forehead against Marik's.

“So,” Bakura started, his hands wrapping around Marik's waist, “just to be clear… We _both_ want to- want to-” and the way he struggled to find the right word made Marik want to laugh, but he was a mess of nerves and excitement too, “-want to finish together.  …right?”

Marik cradled Bakura's face in his hands.

“Yes.” He kissed him. “Hell yes.” He kissed him again.

Bakura melted against him and it was so good, but then Bakura sat up again-

“But if you're uncomfortable, we can do it, I dunno, like, back-to-back? I know it's our first time-”

“Bakura. Bakura, no. I _want_ to do this, I want to do this _so much_ , I specifically bought this TV and this movie so that you would come into bed with me.”

Bakura's mouth hung open in a way that was silly, but also very cute and so so kissable.

“Marik, you seriously bought a TV to get me into your bed when you could have just said, ‘come to bed with me, Bakura’ for free? _Corazón, no ves que he estado loco para que me toques?”_

Marik shrugged, then bumped his nose against Bakura's with a grin.

“Well? It worked, didn't it?”

Bakura rolled his eyes, but then he looked up at Marik coyly.

“Oh, so you had a game plan? How were you planning on seducing me, then?”

Marik hooded his eyes in a way he hoped was attractive, and snuck a few soft kisses from Bakura's mouth before answering.

“Well, we'll have to go back to spooning if you want to find out.”

The mention of spooning had Bakura blushing again, and he kissed Marik twice before turning around. This time, Bakura took extra care to settle his ass right over Marik's crotch, wiggling and pressing his butt and back against Marik in playfully exaggeration. Marik laughed, wrapping his arms around Bakura's waist and holding him close, starting to trail kisses up Bakura's shoulder. Bakura relaxed against him again, sighing.

“God, I love it when you do this.”

Marik's grin was beyond mischievous. “You're calling me God already?”

Bakura's cheeks heated up. “Oh, shut up.”

Marik laughed against his neck, then returned to kissing his soft skin, smiling as Bakura tilted his head to accommodate him and sighed blissfully at the affection. Marik felt Bakura's fingers slipping into his hair, lazily caressing the back of his head, and Marik thanked him with a sigh of his own.

The TV interrupted the peace with a too-loud explosion, and both Marik and Bakura jerked at the sound. Scowling, Bakura snatched the remote from where it lay beside them and shut off the TV, then flung the offending device onto Marik's floor with a muttered curse. Marik snickered at Bakura’s vehemence.

“Hey, I was watching that,” he claimed, his repressed laughter obvious in his voice.

Bakura made a dismissive noise and reclined onto Marik again, stretching out his neck expectantly as if he was royalty. Marik did laugh then, teasing Bakura by ignoring his neck and turning to kiss his cheek instead. His embarrassed little grumble was so cute that Marik kissed his cheek a few more times until Bakura shifted to kiss his mouth instead. They both smiled against each other's lips, and Marik's hand started to caress Bakura's belly, tracing his belly button and exploring his soft, warm skin.

Bakura moaned into his mouth, then settled into his previous position, neck stretched out again. Marik went back to covering his neck and shoulder with kisses until he was boneless against him. He mapped his way up Bakura's chest with his hand and felt heat pool in his own belly whenever Bakura arched into his touch with a soft moan.

When his fingers came across one of Bakura's nipples, perked and hardened with arousal even under the warm blankets, Marik took his time to toy with it. He brushed around its perimeter, traced his fingertips gently over the top, tweaked it slowly and squeezed it between his forefinger and thumb, to Bakura's enthusiastic approval. The way he squirmed and moaned and arched against Marik's hand had his cock twitching with need, and he could feel Bakura automatically rolling his hips (and, coincidentally, kneading his ass against Marik's crotch).

Driven by instinct, Marik tried lightly scraping his teeth against Bakura's neck instead of pressing his lips. Bakura's startled cry of pleasure and the way he bucked into the air drove Marik a little wild. He pulled Bakura more securely against himself, covering his neck with rough kisses and sweet, gentle bites, his free hand starting to trace Bakura's belly again, but wandering lower while he toyed more firmly with Bakura's nipple. Bakura responded with gasps and cries of delight, squirming eagerly. He held Marik's head against his neck with one hand and covered Marik's wandering hand with his other, encouraging him to move lower and lower.

Still, Marik stopped just under the waistband of Bakura's shorts, pausing his movements to lift his head, despite Bakura's whine of annoyance.

“'Kura, are you sure it's okay if I-”

“ _Si no me sigues tocando, me moriré de deseo_.”

“... In English please?”

“Grab my dick before I finish _myself_ off!”

Marik laughed breathlessly, especially at Bakura's hand squeezing his impatiently, then he moved his hand a little lower. Bakura's cock was hard and Marik could feel its almost-blistering heat even through the fabric of his boxers. Bakura moaned, low and throaty, rolling his hips to press against Marik's palm. Marik indulged him, squeezing his cock and enjoying how Bakura cried out and hitched against him. Marik's own cock was fit to burst, especially with the sound of Bakura's pleas.

“B-Bakura, can I-”

“Marik!” He shouted. “Touch me! _Touch me!_ ”

Marik's hand didn't move fast enough for Bakura's liking, so he pulled up the waistband of his underwear to shove Marik's hand inside, groaning as Marik immediately gave him another squeeze. Bakura was so, so hot against Marik's hand, and even his back was searing against Marik's chest, and Marik stopped toying with Bakura's nipple in favor of having both hands in his underwear, starting to knead his balls instead.

Bakura howled his approval, thrusting against Marik's hand, and Marik caught their reflection against the black TV screen, his cheeks a dusky red and Bakura's mahogany with his eyes squeezed shut, his rosy lips parted, and his soft grey hair a mess. Marik threw their blankets off, and Bakura's eyes blinked open at the sudden cold, but Marik wrapped his fingers more firmly around his cock and he was soon squirming again in pleasure. This time, Marik could watch exactly how Bakura's muscles moved enticingly as he rolled his hips against Marik, and Marik was consumed with desire to watch Bakura cum by his own hand.

He pulled both hands out of Bakura's underwear, to Bakura's loud disapproval, then hooked his thumbs over the waistbands of Bakura's boxers and shorts. He was about to ask when Bakura's impatient “Yes!! _YES!!_ ” and lifted ass told Marik what he needed to know, so he slipped Bakura's clothes down low enough that Bakura could enthusiastically kick them off, and admired how Bakura's cock stood tall, engorged, leaking precum, and curved a little in a way that was undeniably cute.

Bakura was bucking impatiently, but Marik still wanted to draw out the experience.

“Bakura, just a moment-”

“Marik!!! _Mi rey, me muero, me muero me muero, ten piedad, tócame, tócame,_ **_tócame_ ** _!_ ”

Luckily, Marik had had the foresight to stash some lube under the pillows, because Bakura was squirming with such need and barely managing to keep his hands away from his own cock. He hurriedly drizzled some onto Bakura's dick, his hiss of outrage reminding Marik that the stuff must feel freezing on Bakura's hot flesh. He quickly poured some onto his own hands, then grabbed Bakura's erection before it faded too much and started to stroke, squeezing him tightly and kneading his balls. Bakura moaned long and loud, and rolled into him, and they managed something like a rhythm for half a minute before Bakura’s back arched off Marik entirely and he howled his pleasure as he came. Marik watched orgasm crash through Bakura in the TV's reflection, his own bones feeling weak as he saw Bakura come undone.

Bakura collapsed against him, eyes sleepy and his smile wide and satisfied. He turned his head to look at Marik and his smile grew, and he carefully rolled over in Marik's lap, shifting until he could straddle Marik's almost-painfully hard cock and kiss him, and kiss him and kiss him until they were both equally out of breath.

Marik couldn't help but buck a little against Bakura, and Bakura moaned appreciatively.

“God, you're so hard… Mind if I take care of that for you?”

“Bakura, if you don't take care of this for me, I'm going to evict your beautiful ass.”

Bakura only laughed as he started taking Marik's shirt off, making sure to feel up Marik's chest as he did so and pause to roll his nipples between his fingers.

“I don't know. It would definitely give people the wrong idea if they saw you throwing rent money at a naked guy you just shoved out of your apartment.”

Marik groaned as Bakura pulled his shirt off while rocking against his erection.

“Wh-who said I was going to give you back the extra rent?”

Bakura snickered as he moved backwards to kiss his way down Marik's chest.

“What a huge dick. And I _don't_ mean the one in your pants.”

Marik groaned again, this time with an edge of desperation. Bakura took that as an invitation to sit back up and kiss Marik while he slipped a hand in his underwear to feel up Marik's cock. They both moaned at how hot and thick he was, and Bakura hurriedly helped Marik out of his pants and underwear.

When Bakura saw Marik's cock, he let instinct take over, and he moved to kiss his way up Marik's thighs as Marik's breath hitched and he spread his legs. Marik found his eyes slipping almost shut and his fingers burying into Bakura's hair as he kissed his way up Marik's erection and wrapped his lips around the tip. A shout worked its way out of Marik's throat, and he bucked upwards. Bakura's mouth was heavenly hot and wet, and then he wrapped his hands around the base of Marik's cock and squeezed and kneaded, and Marik was moaning something that resembled Bakura's name as euphoria overcame him and he came.

Bakura startled and automatically swallowed, then coughed before starting to laugh.

“I didn't know you were that close!”

The afterglow was too strong and good for Marik to get mad, so he lazily flicked Bakura off. Bakura only smiled and sat back up, draping himself comfortably on Marik's chest and starting to press soft kisses onto his face, arms wrapped warmly around his neck. Marik held him close, eyes shut and head leaned back onto the pillows as Bakura told him, without words, exactly how he felt. Marik's smile grew, until he slipped his fingers into Bakura's hair again to hold him still, and he kissed his mouth, softly, sweetly.

When they parted for breath, Bakura lowered his head to kiss Marik's collarbone and tuck his head under Marik's chin, breathing in his scent with a luxurious sigh.

“I still can't believe you bought a $2000 TV just to get me in bed with you. _Te amo tanto, pero estás loco pa'l carajo_.”

“I should get mad at you when you say stuff in Spanish so I won't understand, but you always sound so damn hot that I can't help but love it. And by the way, the TV was $4000.”

Bakura flushed, especially when Marik kissed the scar under his eye and started absentmindedly caressing his back.

“You rich motherfucker. We could have gone on vacation with that kind of cash!”

He slid his hands up Marik's back to return the favor, then remembered the aloe cream Marik had started keeping on his night table. He reached out to grab it.

“Oh, you want to go on vacation together, hmm?”

“Umm, hell yeah?! Who the fuck wouldn't?”

Bakura poured himself a good pile of the stuff and warmed it between his hands. Marik, always ready to enjoy Bakura’s hands working magic on his back, took this as a cue to lay down and roll onto his stomach. He turned his head sideways to grin up at Bakura.

“Well, I’m sure that if you put your mind to it that you could convince me to buy a couple of tickets for a Caribbean cruise…”

“Challenge fucking accepted. Prepare your wallet, _mi rey._ ”

He set about getting Marik to melt into the sheets, appreciating very much the way Marik’s ass felt between his bare thighs. Marik sighed delightedly.

“Hey, Bakura… _Te quiero mucho_.”

Bakura smiled.

“Well, according to Google, _احبك ايضا_.”


	11. The Final Exam (One Year Later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end is the promised glossary of non-English terms! If you didn't understand any of them while reading through the text, try reading it again from the beginning with this open in a separate tab for bonus context!
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry that it took me almost two years to complete this fic! It ended up way, way longer than I originally intended, and it just so happens that the last two years had a lot of busy irl stuff that ate up all of my free time. But I hope you enjoyed this story anyways!
> 
> For a couple of deleted scenes, including the original Chapter 10, check out my tumblr page here: https://cardiaccrisis.tumblr.com/

Ryou gasped, brown eyes huge on Bakura's computer screen as he leaned in closer to his webcam.

“I can't believe you were able to beat the Moon Lord so quickly, Bakura! Which equips did you use?!”

Bakura couldn't help but smirk as he leaned back in his chair and played with his hair in mock modesty, twirling a silver lock around his finger.

“Yes, and with _no_ heart statues. I used a UFO, of course, but the real trick was-”

“Hey Bakura, where did you get that bracelet?”

Bakura blanched, caught already. His cheeks quickly started to heat up even as he scrambled for a lie.

“This? Oh, I just found it-”

“Don't even try it, Del Rio.”

Bakura sighed. Ryou knew him too well. It had only been a matter of time before Ryou noticed the bracelet and commented, since Bakura never wore anything he had stolen.

“Does this have something to do with your roommate? The one you rated _nine-point-five_ out of ten?”

“Okay, listen-”

“Only a 9.5, Bakura?” Marik interrupted as he stepped into Bakura’s bedroom uninvited. “How could you lie to him like that?”

Bakura flushed and averted his eyes as Ryou laughed and waved at Marik. Marik waved back, then pulled Bakura’s desk chair back far enough that he could climb onto Bakura’s lap. That left Bakura more red than brown, but he couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around Marik and sneaking a quick kiss against his shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Ryou! I used to be Bakura’s friend, but I guess I’m not any more because he didn’t even tell me he had a crush on someone!”

Marik pretended to look offended.

“Bakura! You _haven’t_ told everyone in your life about how great I am, yet?!”

Bakura gave them both the finger.

“Well, hello Ryou, I’m Bakura’s roommate. He didn’t give me much of a choice because he broke into my apartment and made himself at home.”

“Hey, fuck you Marik, you know that-”

Ryou laughed. “Yup, that sounds like him! We became friends after he stole my identity to get into the United States.”

“Hey! I didn’t _steal_ it, you lent it to me-”

“Bakura, how the fuck can you borrow someone’s identity?”

“Marik, fuck off, we were kids and-”

“So Ryou, has he always hated clothing?”

“Oh god, _yes!_ I thought he just didn’t have a whole lot of clothes that fit, but he _did_.”

“Kiss my ass, Mexico is hot and-”

“Oh yeah, and this air-conditioned apartment is also too hot for clothing?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Marik, so it’s true that Bakura’s a snuggler?”

“Hey, listen you lil’ shits-”

“Extremely true, this man loves to cuddle.”

“Marik, _how could you?_ ”

Marik kissed his grumpy cheek.

“Don’t worry, Bakura, you have no street cred here anyways.”

Ryou started laughing so hard that tears filled his eyes and Bakura tried to look really pissed off, but he really couldn’t stay mad when Marik was grinning and Ryou was laughing so genuinely.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you assholes.”

Ryou wiped his tears away, still laughing. “He’s so sweet, he called us his friends!”

Marik patted Bakura’s cheek affectionately. “He’s so loving. So Ryou, you knew him as a kid, right? Any embarrassing stories?”

“Ryou, _no!”_

“Ryou, _yes!”_

Ryou’s grin was wide enough to look almost evil. “As long as you tell me embarrassing stories about him as an adult.”

Bakura covered his eyes. He was regretting every decision he had ever made up to this point.

Marik noticed his existential despair and took pity on him.

“Well, maybe we can trade stories another day. How did you guys meet?”

Bakura thanked him with a kiss on the shoulder.

Ryou, amused, went along with Marik’s suggestion.

“Sounds good! It all started when my dad was invited to a Teotihuacan dig in Mexico. I went with him, expecting to be by myself all day in the tent, when suddenly another kid walked in like he owned it!”

“I believe it, that was Bakura in my kitchen while I was asleep!”

Bakura sighed. This was going to be a _long_ conversation.

 

* * *

 

Bakura was sitting on the couch, idly strumming the guitar strings as his fingers warmed up. He had settled into a familiar chord progression when he heard the jingling of Marik's keys just outside the front door. He smiled then, waiting until Marik entered through the door to shoot him a playful wink, the guitar thrumming softly.

Marik's face immediately lit up at the sight of him, and Bakura missed a string when he switched chords because the bright lavender of Marik's eyes and the sweet curve of his lips. Of course, this only made the Egyptian laugh at him for being such a lovesick loser, but the sound of his laugh was more than reward enough for the indignity.

Regaining control over his fingers, Bakura returned to his warm up while Marik set his bookbag down near the floor and slipped onto the couch next to him. Marik's arm wrapped around Bakura’s waist, and the Mexican leaned against him with a happy sigh, shifting a little so his arms remained free while his back was pressed up against Marik’s side.

Marik buried his nose in Bakura’s hair as he listened to the random chords melt into a proper song, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. After a while, he mustered up his courage and pressed a kiss onto Bakura’s head before asking, “Bakura, do you remember the song you first sang to me…?”

The guitar’s song slowed, and Marik could hear the smile in Bakura’s voice when he replied, “Of course I do.”

Marik hugged Bakura a little bit closer, then lowered his head to whisper in his ear. “You know, that song was what made me start falling for you.”

Bakura kept strumming, though Marik knew that he was feeling smug at the confession. “Even though you didn’t understand any of the lyrics?”

“Even though I didn’t understand any of the lyrics.” Marik’s free hand moved to twirl several of Bakura’s silver strands of hair between his fingers. “But, you know, I’ve taken a half a year of Spanish now. I bet I could understand at least some of it if you sang it for me again.”

Bakura missed another string, and Marik grinned. If Bakura was flustered at his question, then that made him feel a little better about his own nerves. He couldn’t quite see Bakura’s expression, but there was some deep emotion he was struggling to hide when he asked Marik, “Do you remember any of the words?”

Marik scowled. “No, but I’ll know if you change them on me.” He then ran his fingers gently through Bakura’s hair with a playful smirk. “Sing me the same song exactly, and don’t leave any of the mushy parts out.”

Bakura’s shoulders shook for a moment, and Marik was puzzled until the Mexican said, “Alright, as long as I get to watch you fall in love again.” Then he pulled away from his side, settling on the other end of the couch.

Marik sat up, butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach as Bakura started playing again, gray hair covering his expression as he looked down at the guitar. It had been almost a year, but Marik immediately recognized the opening chords and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down.

Bakura looked up again and Marik was struck by how devilishly handsome he looked, a wide grin on his face and his eyes half-lidded, a halo of mussed silver hair and his scar a sign of having been through hell and back.

He opened those soft lips of his to sing, “ _Hola Marikita_ ,” and Marik smiled because even if he knew the name was actually derogatory now, he knew that Bakura no longer meant it.

" _Como te llamas?_ " he continued, and Marik understood, resting his head in his hands as Bakura answered to himself, " _Me llamo Bakura, me llamo Bakura- la dai di laila._ "

Marik admitted to himself that he didn’t understand the last part, but then Bakura added, " _Me gusta la biblioteca_ , _vivo en la casa roja_."

Marik understood those words, but surely he hadn’t quite understood the meaning? His smile started to fade as Bakura continued, " _Yo tengo dos bicicletas, muchas gracias y de nada!"_

As Marik grew more confused, Bakura’s grin only got wider, and his voice sounded more and more like he was trying not to laugh.

" _Cuanto años tienes?"_  Bakura moved to sit closer to Marik again, " _Un momento por favor_ ," and Bakura’s shit-eating grin couldn’t have possibly gotten any wider as he whispered in Marik’s ear, " _Es la canción del primer semestre de Español._ "

“You bastard,” fell from Marik’s lips and Bakura’s laughter filled the apartment before he continued to serenade Marik, who cursed himself for not having done the same and who couldn’t help but fall a little more deeply in love at the perfectly-executed trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1:  
> كل خرى – (Arabic) Eat shit  
> Hijo de la gran puta!– (Spanish) Son of a giant whore!  
> Mierda! – Shit!  
> Chapter 2:  
> Adios, Marikita! - Good bye little Marik! (except that this would sound phonetically identical to "Adios mariquita" which means "Goodbye little f*g" and this is exactly what Bakura intends because he's an asshole)  
> Hasta mañana, Marikita. - see you tomorrow
> 
> Chapter 3:  
> Es que te estás preparando para un concurso de belleza ahí adentro?- Are you getting ready for a beauty contest in there?  
> culero - Asshole  
> Eres un tremendo codo - Literally "You're a giant elbow", figuratively "You're such a cheapskate"  
> Porque te pones lindísimo cuando te encabronas, Marikita! - Because you look really cute when you're really fucking pissed, Marikita!
> 
> Chapter 4:  
> café con leche - latte  
> te voy a poner este casco de supositorio - I'm going to give you this helmet as a suppository (ie. Shove it up your ass).  
> chingado - fucker  
> baboso - Slimy/drooling, generally used to call someone an idiot or unsavory in a creepy/liar sense  
> Vámonos, Marikita, antes de que cierren la tienda. - Come on, Marikita, before they close the store.  
> Jodete, Marikita! - (Go) fuck yourself
> 
> Chapter 5:  
> la biblioteca - the library  
> Inocentes - lit. innocents, but meant as "suckers/naive idiots"
> 
> Chapter 6:  
> Tranquilo- calm down
> 
> Chapter 7:  
> kouhai - This isn't Spanish, this is Japanese for "Student". Bakura is just a weeb  
> Come-mierda - Shit-eater  
> NO JODAS! - You've gotta be fucking kidding me!  
> MARIK! CASI ME CAGUÉ, MALDITO ÁRABE, JURO QUE TE MATO! - Marik! I almost shat myself, I swear I'm going to kill you (you) goddamn Arab! (note: in my experience, Hispanic people almost always refer to others by their nationality, or region if they're not from the Americas. And everyone from Asia is apparently Chinese or Hindi. Sorry about that, folks)  
> cabrón - motherfucker  
>   
> The following part of this chapter features the most romantic song in existence, found here: https://youtu.be/ngRq82c8Baw  
>   
> mi amor, mi cielito - my love, my slice of heaven  
> Como te llamas? - What's your name?  
> Me llamo Bakura, me llamo Bakura - My name's Bakura, my name's Bakura  
> la dai di laila - Meaningless gibberish that sounds good.  
> Donde está el baño? Feliz cumpleaños. - Where's the bathroom? Happy birthday.  
> Qué hora es, qué hora es? - What time is it, what time is it?  
> Me gusta la biblioteca - I like the library.  
> Vivo en la casa roja. - I live in the red house.  
> Yo tengo dos bicicletas, muchas gracias y de nada!- I have two bicycles, thank you very much and you're welcome.  
> Cuanto años tienes? - How old are you?  
> Un momento por favor - A moment please.  
> Es la canción del primer semestre de Español. - It's the first semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song.  
> mi tesoro - My treasure
> 
> Chapter 8:  
> Un cuerpo tan caliente, y te mueres con un poco de frío, mi rey? - Such a hot body, but a little bit of cold kills you?  
> Cobarde! - Coward!  
> ¡No mames, Marikita! - Stop shitting me (literally: stop sucking at the teat)  
> En serio, no pudiste esperar hasta mañana para joderme?! - Seriously, you couldn't wait until tomorrow to annoy the fuck out of me?  
> Que quieres? Seguirme tocando? Bueno, realmente no me opondría. - What do you want? To keep touching me? Well, I wouldn't oppose the idea.  
> Tesoro - Treasure
> 
> Chapter 9:  
> te amo también, cabeza de huevo - Love you too, testicle-head.  
> Coño!! - fuck!  
> carajo - fuck!  
> Dios mío! Ay, si, Marik!! Tócame, bésame, muérdeme! - My God! Oh yes, Marik!! Touch me, kiss me, bite me!  
> Verdaderamente, me pudiera enfrentar a una armada entera por ti, mi rey. - Honestly, I could face down an entire army for you, my king.
> 
> Chapter 10:  
> بحبِك - (Arabic) I love you  
> Corazón, no ves que he estado loco para que me toques? - My heart, can't you see that I've been crazy for your touch?  
> Si no me sigues tocando, me moriré de deseo. - If you don't keep touching me, I'm going to die of desire.  
> Mi rey, me muero, me muero me muero, ten piedad, tócame, tócame, tócame! - My king, I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die, please have mercy, touch me, touch me, touch me!!  
> Te amo tanto, pero estás loco pa'l carajo. - I love you so much, but you're fucking crazy  
> mi rey - my king  
> Te quiero mucho - I care about you a lot.  
> احبك ايض - (Arabic) I love you too 
> 
> Epilogue:  
> See Chapter 7.
> 
> And yes, Bakura's bad habit of saying whatever he wants in Spanish will bite him in the ass several times once Marik learns it!
> 
> P.S. I just fixed some typos, awkward wording and inconsistencies, so if you noticed anything different, it's not just you!


End file.
